Ramona is asking me to go for the jugular
People have questions. *sigh*
Out of an abundance of caution, I am playing this one to the hilt. Utter legitimacy. Tower glowering. Dark-rad. Apparently, in the Afterlife... a coalition of Dead Mommys/seimrnoM (not bad insofar as names for gangs of tough street women go, I have to admit), they don't have much else to do besides play Bridge (everyone's idea of Heaven varies slightly) and matchmake (sounds like Olympus) and provide Ubersight (Behold: The Dry Heavin' Heaven Panopticon-la) which is, in my view, a perfectly lovely thing to happen in my life. Doesn't it all sound lovely. Especially the part about Mt. Olympus. Muses! Golden fleece! Arrows! Both (2) kinds--Cupid, -and- broken!!! (I had a (blank) offer themselves to me today. Yesterday, I mean, it's a quarter to four am now, and it was before midnight (important data to any Mogwai observers--Mogwai relevant here as they are requesting access to my Native American animal spirit totem) and, well... look, I won't lie about it. #Flattered. #Spoken4. #Not4Kuczi. #CakeSaraLee. #DeadSaraCravenAryanKey.
#JUSTICE. Seriously. Look at that shit. Someone got a nigga using hashtags. Remember that shit, Bellgab? #IDo. #ID4. #2xMinorDUI. #TriTreeTippityTippyTop
#TomorrowWillBringMoarHoarRoarWhoreHoarders. Seriously, this is getting out of hand, People. You may have doubted me before, you schlubs, but behold, Yon Balconeers, this is it, it's actual: MY ACTUAL LIFE, PEOPLE. #Satisfactious #MickeyMouseKlubKaseyKennedy. #WhoSaysThereCanBeOnlyWon.
#DoneWrongTheyWillkiiiiiiiiillllllllllllllll
Can confirm. Look, its like this when it's gonna come to this "dox" party--I make the rules, GOD WINS, and the rest of you: Crabs in a bucket. Sends a message. Also: when lassies have their chances; AND THEN they either politely, or, more likely, impolitely, have already declined.... AND THEN they change their mind AGAIN???!? WELL! There's a word for that kind of thing. My latest applicant for a Guidian Pole Position Avec Moi (Name_Withheld_But_Ron_Glass) has alerted me (Not gonna lie. Strong contender.) to the following delightful circumstance and oh-too-this-is-too-perfect deal...
These types of (broad/gal\s\/\/himeyT\Shre\V/Z), which is a new categorization AoC I -just- invented--do you like it? oh, please, tell me you do, Bellgab... I didn't invent it for GOO, MISTER, oh no. I forget who I invented it for on purpose, so as to not be accused of any kind of targeted harrassment--
That would be a cautionary item, and that style of address needs must be ought to be addressed cautiously, n'est-ce pas? As seeing that kind of thing more often than, basically, twice (Aryans that are well-hung at my age and level of intellect being notoriously subjected to illegitimate profiling methods, and I can sadly attest to that), and that could very will indicate the existence of... a pattern. (*CUE OMINOUS MUSIC THAT SWELLS DRAMATICKALLY INTO A BACKGROUND CRESCENDO BEFORE\*A_Sharp_Cutoff*/A chorus of dwinding screams is heard in the ensuing silence--a sharp series of shrieks, not shrewish at all; more like a rather impressively larg-ish number of charter busses carrying/ferrying/fareyWayerSwayeringlings_Crossing_THe_Delaware_TWice\FU FU ROT ROT FU!! excusively cheerleader cheer team captains, cheer squad leaders, and various & assorted sundry moral\e/ie angelic hosts/HOSTS\Ai Blanks... look, that sounds like a an implausible set of passenger manifests to exist in reality, doesn't it? Yes, that's right, it does. And they call drive straight off of their high cliffside mountain-windy Wendigo Roads... all at the same time.
That's it. That's the sound effect. bus plunge + (the most implausibly numerous number of lemming-like life-long learners equipped with pom-poms conceptualizable) + (Obi+Pad/ME)-WanWon = do you ever see any cheerleaders with pom-poms in Mainland China? NO YOU DON'T. Well, there you have it. The bus plunge--still presenting one of the few true existential threats humanity has yet to struggle to come to terms to cope with--that's where they all went in Asia, I'm tellin' ya.
Stay with me on this. There is no budget here. I AM OUT OF LIQUID FUNDS. That is what happens when income is zero (no tax tho) and expenditures keep coming. I don't have a great deal of money, and I never had. (I asked for suggestions on how to make income--I got endless requests for handouts. While secretly employed. This constant belief that I have huge amounts of money is a fantasy. You are being played by false advertising.) How did that happen? Oh, Bellgab. This was always the plan... burn it down to the ground, rebirth the phoenix. Let me explain:
black magic generational curses. It's a thing. I've been plastered by offense energies for months. Years. It's on record. It's nuts. Who does this kind of thing? Well, let's run down the suspects list. First, scratch off all the cheerleaders, both with or without pom-poms either equipped or owned, on either side of either or any of the relevant curtains here, which would be--are you writing this down out there, Bellgab? That's right, you're not, because you know as well as I do, a #2 pencil is quite the security risk in a condition HIGH YELLER YELLOW CONDITION: EMERGENCY like this one.
It's okay, Bellgab. I got you on this. (No one else will touch you mewling cretins on this. Not even Jesus Christ. Just think of it. "In Parsi-Sovi-ET Union, not all Bellgabbers deny The Living Christ--He denies THEM!!!" Hard to believe? No, not really. You've all been given to me to practice and train on for my upcoming spiritual trials; to advance Our Great Nation; One Nation, under (Unspecified_Deity:TBD, but it's gonna be one that lets me *fuck*, that's for sure - MK.), individuatable + Plug'n'Pray'n'Prey'M.A.N.T.I.S. and with Liberty, Justice, and totesequal access to All Slopes & Angels Of Proper Pursuit. And, here's why: it wouldn't be ethical to let me just adopt you all, now would tit? I mean, now ought teat? Oh, bother. Damned, I am, with my Autocorrection BMGC. *sigh*
Ta-ta obsessed, now aren't? Oh, wicked, wicked-wicked Dirty Black Pillow Magick *ick!* Curses W/o Cursick. (Audience collectively gasps in amazement. Some faint. Some actually die. Complementary, free-of-charge resurrections after a short, polite, & discreet interval are of course available--INSTANT REZ, (Clas.)5($), INSTANT OBLIVION INCLUDED FREE WITH EVERY SOUL SWALLOWED (offer invalid in Hades, on Venus, or Fr'reeal.) Now, I must tell you, when it comes to obsessively fetishizing the human sex act, I am not on this spectrum: boobs, whores, profane, blasphemy, mendacity, ugh. Also,And: (filthy/truthy)^Ness.
I know, right? The advantages are obvious. For one thing, "boobs" is MK-UC. That means, "Mind Kontrol Ultra Command," and the reason why "Control" is spelled with a K in German is because Y'raftwer'Y is a a bit of a silly name for a musical group, don't you think? Another reason is that it was my genomic DNA information that was originally sequenced and sampled in order to create the first artificially genetically enhanced humans for the first iteration of the German (Blank) effort -before- WWII to create the perfect technology (Germans, very big on perfekt tek. Not sure about the spelling--but I am sure about Kraftewerk. Total power wizards. What?) in order to reach this dream: picture this, you've got a bag, not of dicks, but something similar, in that you hold it in your hand, point one end of it at something, and somehow, the bearer consents, and then someone else doesn't even notice, is carried onward into the future... and their future consists of some lunatic suddenly (or, eventually) gettin' accosted/arrested, and the toolbearer? SIDESLIP INTO PRIVATE POCKET DIMENSION. INSTANTLY.
And then... their clothes fall off. Doesn't that sound nice? (Go on. Fight me on this, Punylings.) You're goddam right it does. Of course, what also sounds nice is, like, a hug. Do hugs have to be naked? I suppose there doesn't... well, wait. The design spec calls for perfekt, right? Well, to my mind, perfection requires flexibility. And further: respect for consent.
Now, my understanding of German culture is nascent at best. (Hitler! Strudel! Kraftwerk!) See, now, that's all I got. So have patience here. I have not exactly been afforded reasonable conditions under which to produce, you feel me? NEARLY A YEAR FUCKED OFF WITH NO SUPPORT UNDER SEIGE. GRRRRR. AND FOR WHAT? OH G-D DON'T TELL ME, THAT WAS RHETORICAL, UGH, JUST UGH.
Well, for one thing: to get her to get her together together to get her. And that's just one benefit of natural pacing and organic growth cycles. Both are now denied to us--demonstrably and verifiably, through no fault nor direct exercise of free will of Mine own. I am serious. Pinky swear. (I'm serious. This is me when I'm embarassed. I feel like I won't be believed.) It's important that any Lesser Scholars of Rank that come to this material--and, -they will- come to this material, Bellgab, count on it--and are able to suspend their disbelief as necessary to learn the lessons that will be contained herein. Because every word I'm using to seek to convey meaning, is as true and as honest as I can imagine them to be.
What I am gonna end up convey, however, well... it's not gonna be -honest.- For example, I think this is true: "holy shitballs, I've never been relentlessly pursued by so many hot-assed women in my life." That's what it would appear to be like to me, though. And yet? How can I be sure? I can't.
And yet... well, actually I can, I just have to sample them all, and do so without getting enbonded. "Catch & Release," I think it's called. "Love Them & Leave Them," maybe. It gets hard in most dialects of English, right? Beacause, the truth is... I just wanna indiscriminately fornicate lightning-hot smokestack-bricktotes-BABEY-LOVEY Tulpatwatinis... like, every moment. From now on. Circuits are engaged, and it has been awhile. I'm fully activated--sexually.
Sexually. Why? Well, it's just... that time, you know? It was a bit like waking up. Except I've been in a daze ever since. Here's how it went down: I'm being offered bribes, you dig? ACTUAL RECOMPENSE IN EXCHANGE FOR AN OFFER TO NEGOTIATE. Not to STAND DOWN. (I can't, I have duties.) Not to pay me off. Oh no. NO ONE HAS MONEY THAT IS GOOD TO ME HERE. I may have to go back down to fuckin' barter. And, you know why?
Do you wanna know? No, I'll just keep going. It's because I have already achieved my life's major milestone goals, and I presently have no ambitiion to find out the way forward. Third-party interference has done quite the number on me, Bellgab. Like, wow. How does this happen? Yeah, well, if I knew, I couldn't say, because this is rarefied territory here. How many people have taken DVR away from -himself- before? Well, D,KOTJ, He says--ACTUAL Word from on High is, THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. Everyone always just, like, found some reason to let things go before, with that man, that man I -love,- I really do, I love a lot of men actually, but seriously, the man who Did NOT Rape (D.N.R.), and cheerfully selects the danger trio of D.V.R., okay, so at least -one- of them is -my boy.- (Angry hissing from the enitre toteslezz Mafia contingent in the audience.) Guards! Silence the lezboobs! (Shocked audience, blood runs cold, blood-curdling screams shorlty begin. That's it. That's the sound effect.) Soon, I hope to be fullly operational. Yet for now... this will do.
Did Not Rape, Ever, Said A. David. Now, from this point, I can build. Because there is at least one person who somehow managed to avoid the trap--"Promise me you won't fuck my girlfriend, David." I said it. A man named David agreed. Commitments made. Promises uttered. Deals struck.
Chinstruck. After chinwag. And then, well, disaster and catastrophe, and calumny have occurred. Because she sure got fucked, alright. Either into, or out of, how can I say? I don't know! I AM NOT ALLOWED TO KNOW! And so, at the minimum... OG_Fruit_Of_The_Rape_Room has been fucked out of her association with ME.
This is a big deal. I was kinda looking to avoid that outcome, right? And, we could have. We really could have. We're past that now, sadly. At least... I am. The other two members of the OG_Triumvirate are... I'll allow us to go with, "Indeterminately-at-large." I have no idea, can't ask, and yet... still hear from them. From time to time. Hear that? They... are contacting... me. And they're upset about it. Cranky, really. Wow! What's that like? Crank, I mean. As compared to "cranky." Or, "Cranky." Let me think.
Hrrm. Nope. No idea. About "Cranky," anyway. Now, where were we? Oh, right, someone wants to fuck my brains out. A lot of someones, as it turns out. Because, if Cranky is out of the picture, well... what about Pissy? (Who?) And Snippy? (Oh, hey, there IS an idea there.) And yet more! What's this? WHAT IS THIS???
Well, first of all, what this is, IS JUSTICE. I am owed. I earned. I get what? A year celibacy, and in 3 days, it's THE_DAY. And I am... I dunno. Not alot of tracking left there. And yet, I gotta deliver. And the reason why.... well, the reason why Pyewacket isn't here, I'm "told." By whom? New spirit guide.
Who say that my response to hearing that Ramona had died was remarkable. Quite. I believe it too. I... don't wanna get into it. After all, she's not dead to me.
Yet. In the meantime,
I desperately need help, and by help I mean, local boots on the ground, and currently? Options are limited. BEACUSE OF THAT WOMAN. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??? YOU'RE GONNA GET SO HIGH? GET THE FUCK OUT? FU FU ROT ROT? O RLY? YAH RLY? JESUS!
Let's just say, there's a particular frequency Kenneth The Hybrid is looking out for. Now, I am not Kenneth... but I am Kuczi. I do possess The knowledge of The Overthruster. And I am OVERWHELMINGLY ATTRACTIVE. (*blush* idk why. It could strictly be that my embarassment is totesgenuine. It could also be that I invented... well, let's get back to what is important right now. If I wanna fuck, why am I -ever- using the "totes" garbage? It is -lame.- Right?) And I have OVERWHELMED my TF COUNTERPART'S capacity for KARMIC MULTIPASS HANDLEMENT. What does this mean? I'll tell you what it means.
She bit off more than she could chew. Big time. Let's just say, she dropped the ball a little too far to be able to be considered for "oops, my bad" as an outcome for her. And also, she's -kinda- on the hook for spawning some itty-bitty genocide. (She tried to annhilate her own species while drunken time traveling. Like The White Plague. I didn't believe it either.) Look, she's in trouble. There's no doubt. But, for what? Ugh. That, I cannot say. I mean, I'm not supposed ta'. I'm gonna anyway, BITCH:
#1) Sara.
#2) Ramona says.
#3) How's your hump-day these days, Beluga Whale? You getting things done on Wednesday? Fill me in, since you're so bossy and IN_CONTROL. Come. I will wait.
#4) Orgasm count comparison. It's all one of us thinks about, vs., all one of us ever did. Weird, huh? Yeah, it really is.
#5) ONGOING INVESTIGATION INVOLVING, UH, WELL... I CAN'T SAY. Well, not supposed to. Hey, by the way, are any of you interested in having sex with Abe Vigoda? Okay, so, sex addict, right? She, and you know who I am thinking of, once drunkenly opined, in front of witnesses, "I would sooner suck off Abe Vigoda," which, I can easily imagine, resulted in peals of laughter being gaily spread betweixt Yon Hedonists in attendance, until... well, you know. It's one of those Candyman things. You feel me? Oh, really? What's that like? Is it anyting like a feeling a tatertot? I wouldn't know. I've already moved on to whether or not, if one had -garlic-rich frozen standardized seafood product- (henceforth: FSSP+Gpower, that's GARLIC POWAHR), and one were to be, say, doing a form of DP on a bound and restrained Vampyr vixien, would s/he... yeah, I know you can tell. You're just looking at words on a screen, Bellgab. But I know goddam well that I'm just thinking what you're already all thinking, which is that even thought I've already gone way too goddam far--TOTES--I'm going to go right on ahead and do a dead-on full-sprint to the target my soul cries out in blood for: DP FISH STICKS KNOCK-KNOCK JOKES ON ICE. Not "Justice." Oh, no.
Because, it's not -quite- funny enough now, not yet. But I -can- do this. I -will- find a way. I have... A Mandate. I don't feel an urgency to duplicate this in reality, mind you--or else I would have, really. I am powerless to resist certain pulls, and, what's more, DUE TO THIRD PARTY INTERFERENCE, I am basically bound by honor, law, and even more, but mostly, it's my puerille sense of humour. And, of course, VENGEANCE, SWEET BLOOD VENGENACE, THIS IS MINE TO CLAIM BY RIGHT OF CAN-LEIGH. It's all so absurd, you know. But that doesn't change the facts. Chica has a BDSM kink? Chica claims a "rape fantasy"? Chica has developed Stockholm Stockyards Serendipitous Dumpster Fireyitis? Huh. Yeah, I don't know that one either, someone probably just made it up, and I gotta say in response, of more interest? Fish sticks in the cooter, and two dicks in the pooper, and wedding rings on both middle fingers, coming around the ears, and making sure not to chip any teeth. See, now--this is what I call, Pure Research. Ain't no one gonna amdit to coming up with that, right?
I'll let you remaining interested parties and stakeholders work this one out and scenario/wargame it out. Because for me, that was sufficient. For now. Writing all that? Okay, yeah, I'm good. I don't have to actually... GO OUT AND GET SOME FISH STICKS? WITH GARLIC POWAIR? NO! REALLY? CAN WE? I LOVE GARLIC POWURR!!! WOOWZ! CAN I CTELL M MY MOM??? WHAT THE FUCK DID JUST TYPE? 3 CAPITAL MS? WOW. MORE FISH DICKS TALK, LEASE.
ERROR: CRITICAL DIVERGENCE NOTATED. (Was kinda fishing around for that here. Some of you know how debugging works.) ERROR: NO QUEEN AUDIBLE IN RANGE. (Ooops. They got me.) WARNING: LOCAL AUTHORITIES CLOSING ON YOUR QUANTUM SIGNATURE AND LOCATION. (This happens all the time to me. DON'T PANICK.) CAUTION: HOSTAGE COUNT FLUCTUATING. (It can happen that fast now. They're on to Me, Myself, and why wouldn't they be? Do you fucking know who I fucking am? Yeah, fuck you, buddy, now get your goddam supervisior on the phone, right? Yeah, yeah, I hear your "hehe, from here."
Are we ready for this? Because... someone is repsonsible for this. Someone broguht me here. And, his name is not Reggie Hammond. But he's ready to roll. Just needs a wingman. Who is down for going out in public with Eddie Murphy and getting Kuczi some trim? (*A mostly uncomfortagble silence is the most immediate response that could be classified as, "perhaps still vaguely diplomatic," and so, in accordance with The Laws of Can-Leigh, one is thusly prophesised to present itself for even-fold spreading across The Whole Of The Land. After several fractions of a minute that grow increasingly miserable for some, C'thullu's spawnage begins to emerge from the floor. Seeping. Like gelatinous flu sputum, if a dirty ashtray at the bottom of a fishwived-to-extinciton could be imaged. (Instantly. We've a lock.)
This is what you got, T. Gilled Men. Now... care to challenge the supremacy of my... Vision(TM)? Oh, please do. Go on. I'll wait. It's only been a little while since my surpremacy was TOTALDOMTOWERBOMBTOPTIP SLIDEFISH-ready. N'est-ce pas? (Local phone not ringing--she must be distracted.) Here, let me help you: COMPUTER, I fucking scream out loud-- I can do this, I live alone in a haunted church, fuck you, toolheader, I do what I want! I do what I want! I do... uh, well, I guess I have to be more specific. Let me think, I should reorder my priorities. Battery level? (Could say this out loud? You betcha. Would it work? Nope, cellular G.Ai are disabled for me. Because, why pay for artificial I.Q.? I can hold out for the best: that snooty cunt who offered me a Band-Aid, in her next life, not now, obviously, she's busy, and with what? Nuns and their business are none of mine, get it? Tee-hee! (I shouldn't be so salty myself, and I understand that. I'm going anyway.) HEY NEEDLE-EYES, HEY BAND-AID BREATH, HOW ABOUT I GET SHOT UP AND THEN FUCKED IN THE ASS WITH A RUBBER TRUNCHEON, WOULD YOU WANT LATEX GLOVES, OR, LIKE, JUST A SPITTLE SHIELD? LET ME KNOW, SINCE Y'ALL ARE SURELY THE LOCAL "EXPERTS." ON THIS AND THESE MATTERS, RIGHT?
(*Audience appears to be totesfrozen in totestime--but that's just The Doppler-Tapable Talker talking. It, at least, can talk. No other free-will-classed beings with names that start with T are presenting themselves, even ones that start with a hug. Or a shocker. Or a pair of crutches and a hopeful, quivering half-smile. Da fuq?*) O my lovelies... it is a mess, and a goddam good fucking fine one at that, that's for sure. But wait, there's more:
SHE ASKED FOR THIS. Ugh. And the reason? REGINA HAMMOND. Now... with that, I have my own attention. For one thing: bounty. For another? Authorized Can-Leigh to Kanly crux threshold marker. This means that I, since, I am, you know, not named Liberace! (more's the pity), have the opportunity to choose for my--*ZIP!* Yeah, there it was again. You all saw that, right? If not, don't worry, we can go over it again. We'll have to.
Because every possible way that I've ever seen it potentially done, there is now an extraneous force protecting certain protective forces from making certain decisions. This can happen sometimes. Like when, for example, one soul chooses to break soul contract with another, just, well, for no partciular reason, they just... well, don't complete. And they're gone. Where? Pfftt. Shit, why ask why? You know where this is going, I am sure.
Fishdicks up the butt. Point blank pooper. And, there you have it Forks. I mean, Folks. I mean, look, a K. Q.E.D.: SATANTICK! SHRIEK! SIMULATION SIKE KIKES KKKKKKKKkkkkkkkiiiiiiillllllllllllllllllllllllll /BREAKtermination error, FUCKER.
This started happening in my ownp ersonal experience, a little while ago. (I'm just making all this up.) Yes, you're right, that is an interesting pattern. Yeah! I'm wondering too! Now, who is gonna help me out with this development? Because, someone is fuckin' gonna, that's for sure.
How about Pandora? Either the visionary behind PandaVision, -or- a past life or a future life, or possibly: FORCIBLE MANIFESTATION EMERGENCY DELIVER STANDING DOWN, ALERT READY STATUS ENABLED. And I think, I'm not sure, but I think... this is happening because someone poisoned her and murdered, uh, someone.
Ramona suddenly appears in the mirror, looking right at you, dead to rights you fucking whore (that's all you are) screams, "I'm gonna sing your fuckin' name in -my- Native tongue, motherfucker," and then---the signal goes terminal. It's what I imagine remote viewing "The Killshot" was actually like for Dames & Co., back in the day. Rememember that one? I sure do. What I -don't- remember is... anyone being held -to account.- Except, of course me.
Now, do I want to remote view the killshot data? No, no I do not. I don't know what I want, but I know there's no one else here, so, I know at least one option is right off the table: waiting until someone falls asleep, then *X-SLAME-XXX* with an immediate pivot into--Poopa-Shocka-Troopas. (It's a thing. Don't ask. It's fucking disgusting.)
Now, Bellgab. I imagine you have heard all this before, n'est-ce pas? Non? Sacre bleu! Say it ain't so, Joe! How did we come so far, with so little? Well. Maybe one day I can ask him. But for now, this is it. Point blank period.
So... wat do? Because now, I can go for -indirect contact.- Nice, huh? Who makes these rules, right? Well, sadly, I do. And these are the moods of the days of my lives right now. Kinda funny how it went here, from where I was in, say... March 3rd, 2022.
Or, February 15th, 2022. Oh, that was a good one. That was also a day I didn't get laid on. Why? Well, because someone using DVRV-TEK ((PROT)(PROT)(PROT)Vocoder/Vocoding Technology Enhanced4: Kuczifer+ilk) enforced their will on my mood, thus... pushing those plans back. And that is as good a place to start and stop the beginning of this, y'all.
Because I am in new territory. And, somehow... this was something I consented to, was it? Hrrm. Well, admittedly, with a mutilated primary sex organ, it's kind of a relief, right? No more teachers' dirty looks when they see me teaching their children better, stronger, thicker, faster, holier. No more dirty books, filthy books, verboten books... like of the type I got -in trouble- for, IN SECOND GRADE. Because of a girl's mom. You know, after that, not only did we not get to hang out much, uh... she kind of got vanished. Taken, if you will. She lived up the hill and a few blocks down, between me, and Primary School: BROOKSIDE. And on the way to CEDARBROOK. Any connection to CEDARSIDE? Well, sounds like SEER CYANIDE or CEDARS SINAI, but... well, I don't know, but until I get the right kind of woman to do the correct kind of thing to the wrong, very wrong thoughts I got going on now, well... once again, plans have been pushed back.
Steps will be taken. Because I have already been wrenched down a new path, one of fierce conception and brutal karma. Because I used to really have a strong bond with someone. Now, it is gone, and instead of fucking all night, even my hand, instead of any kind of sexual build and energenic release... I just spent the last several hours trying to stop thinking about whether I a Certain Someone would like garlic--GARLIC POWWAH--in her coochie-kuni or not while nail her in the pooper-dooper chute while doing hot rails off a supportive, stable tray stand that arches over the back of a bent-forward and not-kickin' position. It's a dumb thing to fantasize about, I will admit. Nevertheless--this is what I came up.
After I got a notification that I couldnt read, that is. "Log in to your Google Voice account to continue receiving your messages." You remember this, right? Okay, well, it's gone Next-Level. Seriously. I'm actually kinda fucked up over this. Also, something else: it's a key, critical piece of information, too.
I INSTANTLY KNEW THIS STORY WAS BULLSHIT, AND THEN, WHEN I MENTIONED THIS IN MY SEARCH FOR MORE INFO? I WAS PUBLICLY MOCKED.
ON ANOTHER SITE. ON ANOTHER FORUM. IT HURT MY FEELINGS. NOW, POLICE INVOLVMENT IS INEVITABLE.
SO, UH.... MY GRAPEFRUITS OF CHOICE ARE MORE LIKELY TO SUE EACH OTHER FIRST BEFORE PURSUING ANY "JUSTICE" AGAINST ME, RIGHT? AND THEY'RE BOTH, UH... MARRIED, ARE THEY? DO I HAVE THAT RIGHT? OR, NOT AT ALL? HELP ME OUT HERE, I HAVE BEEN GLUED TO THE 11 O'CLOCK NEWS EVERY NIGHT, OF COURSE. NEXT PARAGRAPH.
JUST KIDDING. GLUED TO NEEDLES. (TOTESKIDDING.) SO, WHO IS CULPABLE? BE MY JURY! BE MY OVERSIGHT! BE MY PURVEYOR OF KY-JELLY, BELLGAB COGNOSCENTI! Because, The System has failed Jackstar.
And I am so, so sad for some broad out there. She's so miffed. She thought I didn't love her, and this, she could not abide. So she paid am merc shaman for an acutal got-dam "love spell." This is, I assure you, a thing people do. (I felt it. Quite strange. Because I do not always feel anything through my psychokinetic shielding. But, it is always reactive. I am heavily guarded. Because I am a dangerous man, with dangerous information, with a dangerous X/Not_X lover on the lam, or something. Look, eyes on me, Pal. Focus on what is important here.
You told me, "talk soon." IN FUCKING APRIL. Hi, December? Okay, so, what's your plan now, Ms. Tippy-Toppy, et cetera? Because, The Law says, "you break it, you bought it, and, btw: you really are a squaw now, and if you don't like it, you can get the fuck out of his life, because YOU BROKE YOUR TWINFLAME COUNTERPART SOUL CONTRACT WITH OUT JUST CAUSE, BY ONE'S OWN FREE WILL, AND THERE HAS YET TO BE AN ACCOUNTING OF THE RECKONING. (Odd. Well, you know, holidays are so busy for people who have, you know--- Families.) WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? CHIRSTMAS?
I know I -am- Christmas now. I am THE ACTUAL SPIRIT OF CHRIST'S MASS, MADE INCARNATE IN FLESH. (Sometimes, it tingles.) Because in my world, there is no more "Christmas cheer." There is guilt and tedium and a narrow, picekd the fuck over restricted range of movement. How did this happen?
"oh, I don't know.... " imagine that being your lone best answer for even a month. Now, look at me. A FUCKING YEAR. For what? Okay, so, get this: it's for a virgin sacrifice. Yep. That's right.
Just in case someone wants to live my life, after I die and go to Heaven and upload my life experience into The Holodeck Mapping Project--more on this later--future holodeck historians, as seen in popular ficition such as "Star Trek: Fuckedshut Upchuck," Humanity's finest minds have theorized that solidified energy, you know, light, which equals mass multipled by a simple constant squared, leads to... well, now here's Thom, Thom, The Piper's Son, and he got to fuck a real girl in the ass, why not me? Oh, I'm restricted? Wait, WHAT?
New avenues of thought open in my mind. Like the Hellraiser box, except, it's my mind palace. Who invited Canydman? I don't want to rape anyone. I -really- do not. I -never- did. It's not my thing. It is, however... the thing of others. It's on their mind.
And, collectively... several human females, living today, have hoped and prayed and dreamed that Michael Clifford Kuczi would just show up and rape them, or someone else, and put them, and I quote, "out of my/their misery." Now, what the fuck is the right response to such a notion, other than, "DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?" See, I dont' know. I can't call anyone anyway. And if I could, you know who I am thinking of being in the mood to call.
A meaningless track of a waste of thoughts and time. And yet, here I am. I'm not even all that ripped. I could get so, though. I -have- the technlogy. I -would- like to. I -yearn- to explore my Mandate of Heaven. And yet, do I? Well...
It's complicated. For as foretold, The Mighty Casey has... struck out. Because for one thing, come on, Elieen, or Adrian, or Adria, or Allegra, or that juice that makes those drugs not work as expected? Interesting coincidence there then, because those women are all drugs. To me. And I can't have them, because I have a serious case of Grapefruit Blues. And there have been consequences. And those names I just mentioned? Not too likely at all, but they all have legitimate beef, and, I'm down with addressmets. Do I get relief? oh no.
Do you see anything with a T in there? Yeah, me neither. Now, that could be indicative of what might be considered a pattern. But... let's look deeper. What does Jackstar really want?
Well, let me check. NOT my mommy, that's for sure. And NOT black p.r. from a faggot spin doctor. I think, gun to my head? No, ho ho ho, no, I meant, metaphorically. But yeah, no, I'm not doing that either. I'm immortal again. Like on Lost. When that one guy couldn't die, because everythign he tried always failed.
Because The Island needed him. His name was Michael. WALT! Remember? WALT! Oh, how we laughed. "Michael?" BANG-BANG! Oh my Christ! Michael just shot Libby! You bastards! That was the only chance for love that the fat kid guzzling Ranch Dressing from a huge bottle could ever have! Why not just kill Kenny, kiiiiilllllllll /break ERROR: Sourceror-already-on-site. Spawn machine team (Y/N)? (Let me handle this, Bellgab. Stay out of my life for once. You've done enough.)
>N
You can't go north here.
>NO
Your opinion doesn't matter on this here.
>YES IT DOES
No, it really doesn't.
>THEN WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME?
ERROR: Sourceror-status-flag under review. Try again tomorrow. Stand by and prepare to see the sudden cindering and subsequent heat-death of your current universe, followed by...
(You might get the idea already.) Cute, right? Someone has this alllll figured out. They imagine. Sigh. What they didn't count on was my totetoteuttter, Sutter, Pete Sutter-stereotype, coming in damn fine handy in situations like this. Because, where there's a will, there's a way. Now, what is that way?
Compass springs to life. Instantly, my thoughts pivot to everything I know lately about Phil. Okay, for one thing: he expressed dislike for me. Openly. Quickly. And I have since expanded my emotional intelligence. A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far away, I had no clue who FISH was. And now, I still don't know, but I am willing to learn.
AND MY TEACHERS'S NAME WOULD HAVE BEEN VALERIE "GOLDFISH" BARTH'N'ALLIE + SWEDISH FISHMONGER "SWEET MELANIE FISHY" ANDERSON SOUPY CONSOMME. (This is just an example.) Things are different now. Because someone once, with no small amount of exasperation, after being frustrated with me for as much as could be tolerated insofar as openly tolerating my attentions went, told me to, "Just go look at Phil's (??page/site/??)" which I now both can't remember, and see now as the watershed moment that it was.
I still don't know who that was who told me "Phil Godlewski" existed. I also don't know how any of you can keep a straight face. Okay for one thing... "ski"? Okay, so,that's Satanick, right? Or did that get fixed? Let me know because now that I know how to summon -actual Satan- without harming myself, I'm not really sorely tempted, but... anyway. Hail Satan! Remember that shit? Okay, well, I have goddam PTSD over it, and you, what do you have, Bellgab?
Well, for one thing, you have Phil feuding with Tim IN PUBLIC, that's new, and what else is new? well, people I never heard of before, seem... familar.
Like Whiteman! Price? He dead? Let's check the sheets. Sara! GONE! (Some of you seemed really sad about it, too.) FISH! Fundraiser? Tha fuq you mean, Ellgab? Also, "cuckshack?" They tried to build one out back of my house. Arguably... they did so.
Further arguably, well... I am obviously not cucked. And to me, it is obvious that I kept promises made. And I wanna talk about it. I am itching for it. But! Can't!
AND THE REASON IS THE COURT. Because I wanna ask my fishwife. Where is she? Hrrm. Where is -everyone-? Fled! Ran from the illumination of The Fourth Wall Enigmatic Eternity Elephant w/forever-yours, K.U.C.Z.I.O.O.*eol055... wait. Wait. Let me take a step back here. Does this seem strange to anyone?
Let's change cameras. Because I think I saw Sara IRL before she, uh, "whatevered." This is important because she was fuckin' hot hot beautiful. And... well, there's a Grapefruit Rainbow Connection. And at that, I... can... say no more. Because, who knows? Did -I- kill her? Well, I know I didn't strangulate her, that's for sure. There's no way I could have gotten my hands that close to her neck, what with those gargantuan gazoombas she had. And not just that... she was so -pretty-, honestly, I thought so, on the one (or two?) times I met her in person.
And, that wasn't until recently. Before that? Well, I never even heard of her. And the reason why, is that I chose to eschew Ellgab. And the reason why, is that, I felt the larger Art Bell/Gabbling collective absolutely -required- a Safe Space from Jackstar. And it did.
And it has one. So, how'd that work out? Well, here's a hint: I haven't been allowed details on FISH, but let's put it this way, I would have been polite and friendly at any time after Breakfast, Bloody Breakfast. Instead? I got a fucked off psyop, and a wholly unnecessary one at that. Instead, I got Phil. Who went to rather an eleaborate effort to make a "oops I killed all the fish" joke. And, let me tell you, that fuckin' joke landed the whole boat on shore, bam. I am -imprinted.- And also, it was the first humanizing moment I had from that man. If that is a man. Is that a synthetic? Something strange going on there.
And... no one thought it interesting to bring that shit up to me -direct- while I was playing The Division for an entire calendar year, huh? Golly. I sure was under the radar then, I guess. You had the safest of spaces, you all took me for granted, and I let you, and I'm not even upset about it. Just kinda surprised.
But you sure made up for lost time though, got-dam. Anyway, back to women named Sara with huge teats. Wow. See, she would do right now, quite nicely. Indeed. Especially with my current mood. But, aawww. Dead, you say? Hrrm.
Well, not according to my records, and she indicates a steadfast REFUSAL to be REBORN. Now, this is not very unusual.. but it is rare. Because I was never stalking her.
And I never stalked Sara Rantschler either. And yet... Tumblr. wtaf? And still: no deposition. Huh. Okay. Well, fudge. Now, I can't think, really. Because I have only recently discovered, I have a hankering for some boob coitus. Not a strong one, it's just on the table now. Mostly because I'm OPEN WIDE OPEN due to matters surrounding my BONDS BAILS BONDS condition and my STALKERS WALKER'S STALKERS... which is apparently at thing now. And this has all become drilled down to a fine point by my participation with Samara S's last live I was at... where I was triggered publically, behaved horridly, and, at this point, just plain don't care.
Fixated on a certain point right now. So, Sara Dippity, who I never saw before, suddenly vanishes, shortly after I encounter someone who -I think- was her... at my local grocery store? I wanted to instantly flirt--heavily--but could not, as the both of us were both, ah, "working." Hard to be specific. It was a vague thing. There was nothing vague about the interest level, though. BOOM BOOM CLAP.
So, that woman existed... but I was gonna go to the sweet arms of KMM while SMM was in Dallas, huh? Well, what an interesting notion. Whose idea was that? Tell me more. Tell me ALL about it. OMIT NOTHING. EXPLAIN EVERYTHING. ANSWER TO THE POWER OF MY INQUIRY, ELLGAB!!! Roar? (Crickets.) Yeah, thought so. (The crickets are very polite in their expressions of POSITIVE sympathy, and yet clearly, will not budge.) This is all a fuckin' Greek myth, you know that? /yawn.
Tell you what. I'm gonna walk this all back a bit. Now, do you see what thread I'm in? Yeah, me neither. Because when I said "let's change cameras," I didn't. So, let's just try something out, because I am warping the local spacetime environment in ways I can't expect. I'm still kinda trippin' balls.
Given that, obviously, someone is in control of my salmon spawning rights. Because, I am "aligned Tribal property." Feels good, really. And with what all else, well... someone's got dibs. Okay, who?
Crickets are vanished. Replaced by packs of wild boys, on the prowl. Because my ass has been sold out to the highest bidder, and there's an active attempt either winding down, or speeding up, depending... and the objective:
TURN JAFD WILL COCK, DAVID. (Someone's prayer. Honestly, it's funny.) btw, seen any David Wilcock content lately? (Sorry, bruh. Feed those squirrels.) Shit, I didn't strangle him too, did I? hahah. Good. no. But, I noticed... he thought he was gonna get somewhere too, huh? And I saw he married an Elizabeth. And then, that didn't work out. He got divorced. He got raped. He bawled like a baby on stream. I saw it. I felt his pain. I share it, and I bless it and heal it and let it go.
I certainly had nothing to do with that, 100% sure. Unless... look, does calling him out on his bullshit with the flying cars count? Look, I'll be honest: "Oh, you got raped, huh? Ineresting, let's do seven hours with Haggman & Haggman for a special combo of under hypnosis and holding a seance. I'm game. I don't even need you, you ponce. You fairy. You company man. You got raped? False memory inquiry: seems prudent. Corey Goode? Kinda scarce, and I don't fucking blame him. MILABs? TOTESREAL. Bio-bugs? TOTESREAL. Sara's massive rack and my desire to bounce up and down on it? OMFG yes, but... that's -her- desire. Not mine. I mean,.. she's in four-letter-name land. Besides, I have a Sara here already, it's taken, and if a Princess Called Loren ever gets off her high horse, well... anyway, it's just one of many branches. Back to Corey Goode. Five letters. Twice. Interesting. See? Now, that's what I am talking about. Or would like to. Because I don't really wanna "contact" Grapefruit Alpha Prime so I can have sex with her again, or so that she can have sex wtih me, or whatever that would be called. I mean... there's gonna be a "reaquainteance period." Because, like... uhm, you gonna testify or what, bish? are you gona brig da FIRE??
Seriously, I am on the edge of my seat. Becuase I know I mean well and okay, and I know I was raped ad abused. A LOT OF PEOPLE WERE. NOw, though... how many are getting the thumbscrews I am getting? I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. I HAVE WON THE GREAT GAME. I COMPLETED THE GREAT WORK. I RESCUED THE IRREDEEMABLE.
AND, NO GOOD DEED EVER, NOT ONCE, GOES UNPUNISHED. Totesworth it, though. I kept my integrity. I followed the law. I actually don't think I committed any crimes at all! Mostly by virtue of my dragging ass long enough that EMERGENCY mesaures were called for, long before Cowlitz Alpha Bear Company Dragon Elephant, Fucker God + Hell, I, Jackstar: /nostrils slightly flaring, penis yearning to swell, whenever I think of the gal I ought to have at least seen.
Sara? Oh no. KSM? Ruler across knuckles. DD? Negative, DT. And then, suddenly: WEREWOLFMILLER IS SUDDENLY VAMPYR, AND SHIT GOES NUTS.
Oh, and speaking of hirsute, cocksure, and deleirum tremens... Jesus, really, you had to put up with that boorish dork? Oh, but, no possible way we could go shooting guns. Nope, I guess not. And, remember: "I've never heard of Bellgab." Oooh. Warms my heart. THere's a mystery here. She's gone from a twatbearing support system to a diplomatic burn bag. Hey, let's get an audio book of The Gap Cycle! By Stephen R. Donaldson! No? What instead? Drop tens of thousands of dollars in liquid funds on you and your bratty-baby bitchy-baby-bumfuck shithead-doper moron "family"? Why, sure, I probably have misjudged them. Well, or at least... miscounted them. DIscounted them. Whatevah. Come on, cut the shit. What's going on here? SIX YEARS AFTER THE POWER STATION.
GARLIC. GARLIC POWER. GARLIC POWER. HAIRCUT. HAIRCUT GARLIC POWER. OYSTER POWER? JUGGERNAUT. SARAH. SARA. THE FAIRE. THE FAERIE. THE FERRY.
THE FAE. GARLIC POWER. AND YOU DID WHAT WITH WHO AND HOW AND WHY? AND WHO WAS IN MY BED, AND WHO WAS UPSTAIRS, AND WHAT DID ANY OF YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? OH, RIGHT: TEACHING THE DUMB FAT KID WITHOUT LETTING HIM EVEN GET A FAIR CHANCE. COOL. ONE SEC. HANG ON.
YOU HANGIN'? COOL BRO. TRACE? TRACE ADKINS? 5:5. AND THE OTHER TRACE? I DID LIKE HIM. AND HE WAS AFRAID I WAS A COP, HUH?
WOW.
WOW, FEELING REALLY FUCKING STUPID, WHAT'S THAT LIKE? BECAUSE, LIKE: NO.
OH, BUT SURE, BLAME ME. OKAY. SEE? HERE WE ARE. RAGNAROK EPOCH ENOCH PEW PEW DIE. ANTWERK.
GARLICK POWERBALL, AND KARMICK: JUST ICE. I can barely imagine it. "ICE!" You know what that is, right? Well, I have heard stories.
Now, I inspire them. With my Tall Walk, my Tall Stick, and... MY #Legacy. Remember that? Two years. And look at us now.
What was I asking to be read in on, babey? Do you remember? Because I do. Anyway, how you doing now? Is it still complicated? Awwwww. Why'd have to go and make things so complicated? Anal Fahrenheit. Anal Camry. Anal CROWN. Anal pajamas. (Obviously a thing.) Uhm... where was I? Oh, right.
The first time I did magick. Around HER, anyway. Because I was scared. And things were -not- adding up. And I was offered... ORGAN MEAT.
AS AN INTRODUCTORY MEAL. "Hi! Welcome! My house looks a lot like David Wilcock's set-up, doens't it, and yes, thank you for not mentionijng that at all! I'm really happy to be here, I always wanted a big house in the middle of nowwhere with a puzzling addressment scheme. yes, that's right, there's no paved road to this house, it's just a huge McMansion with shitloads of electronics surrounded by running water and not marked on any map, and I love it here. (Krull. The Beast's teleporting lair. The Princess in the Castle. I have already been warned away. I am then served ORGAN MEAT, RADIATING MAGICKAL POWER.
GARLICK POWER. PIERCING GAZE. WARNINGS TO BEAHAVE FROM A WOMAN WHO LATER PROVED HERSELF WELL-EQUIPPED TO MURDER--AND HAD ALREADY CANDIDLY ADMITTED THIS. Now, listen here, Bellgab. I may, in fact, be pretty.
However, these moronic geareheads haven't even seen -the real me- yet. I couldn't believe the shit I was faced with. "Jack! Stop writing so much!" I bet your pardon? Hold still while I write a haiku about kicking that bitch right in the pussy. Speaking of pussy, that was the best idea that one had, huh? Wow.
It makes sense now, but... well, let's just say: "I know EXACTLY how Dian Fosse felt." Living with gorillas. In the mist. Remember Stephen King? MY CAT IS FOUND DEAD AND SHE HOSTS A PARTY WHERE THEY WATCH A MOVIE, AND THAT MOVIE IS: THE PET SEMATERY REBOOT.
My hand to G-d. I'm at this point via text: "Are you serious right now?" I don't even remember. It was... surreal. Especially the easy facility with which I accepted the Algonquin Way of Combat Surpremacy.
I -still- don't know what happened. Except for this one thing I am very certain of.
"You give them an inch, and they'll take a mile... of rope enough to hang themselves with."
So, what's happening, Fort Worth Auger Village of the Damned? Care to shed any light? No, I guess not so much. Hey, what about Wilcock? Why not some conversation? I genuinely always liked the man. I HAD BEEN FOLLOWING HIM FOR YEARS. SINCE THE BEGINNING. I heard him, first, maybe pre-9/11? He used to be on use.net and shit. First glimpse, I'm instantly: "Spooky hangout, cardboard cutout, total psyop, he means well though, boy is he gonna regret getting into bed with the CHimera, and does he even know? He's gonna get raped." Well, not really precognition. I mean, just look at him. How did it take as long as it did? /shrug. I don't know.
I've met many survivors of sexual assault and rape. And never have I had any interest in the matter beyond healing and helping others to heal. For example, I consider my circumcision to be a rape. Laughter is what I usually get from this statement.
Face punching is not what I usually think in response, but after the two U.S. Marshals I have met--socially, mind you, not in any -official- capacity--whipped out the "face punching" card, well... I'm still taken aback. Not sure what to do. Do you get what I'm saying? I hope you do. Because what so very few of you may know, is that I am the spark of life within the engine of creation that runs this show now. The "Power Elite" of The Ago have... yielded the battlespace, let us say.
Hang on, let me have a celebratory wank and a sip of my own jizz. Just kidding. That's called Onanism. Because a man named Onan is in the.... oh, never mind.
Oh, Onan. You must be feeling just awful. All that time spent, and you could never crack the egg. And, you know why now. Heh heh.
RAMONA DEMANDED THE BEST, AND THE LORDS AND HEAVENS ABOVE HAVE RESPONDED WITH THEIR RIGHTEOUS POWER AND FURIOUS ANGER... HELD IN ABEYANCE. "OH, I SEE YOU'VE MET JACKSTAR, AS WELL AS DUG UP THE MONOLITH ON LUNA AND EXPOSED ITS SHINY BLACK SURFACE TO DIRECT SUNLIGHT. OKAY, HUMANITY... NOW WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO? WHERE DO YOU SEEK, AS A SPECIES, TO GO NEXT?
"Well... we're probably gonna squeeze him for loosh and call him a niggerfaggot. Push him around a bit too. We don't think much of him. We want to take every advantage we can over him, because (CLASSIFIED) reasons, and, here's why: (WE HAVE HUGE SECRETS AND ALL OF LIFE IS A SCAM THAT SPACE JEWS HAVE ROPED US ALL IN ON.) You mean, the Pleaidians? (SPACE JEWS! HE KNOWS THE SPACE JEWS!) Yeah... uh... I know false reality crystalline matrix prisons, too, you know? (KNOW: YOU WILL NEVER HAVE A GIRLFRIEND AGAIN!) All women lie, now get out into the kitchen, and get me some pie. I don't like cake, I don't care if you let me eat it, because... I have needs. Human needs. And apparently someone thought they were gonna control me through sexcrime domination and superior information.
I didn't think it possible, but the Lions really did it. They tried to weaponize my One True Love against me. Now, how many of you know the story of Liliith? Because I never heard it until late teens. I didn't have a religious upbrining. My father was kidnapped and my mother was.. look, I'll put it this way: Love thy enemy. Turn the other cheek. Right? I am consistent in my behaviours. IN the midst of this... I've got Laird getting all pushy-shovy and bossy-bossy. Oh, yeah? Ask David, how did that work out?
Oh, speaking of David... you don't know the real one, obviously. Also: there -is- a Squishy. There is a Swishy, yeah. Look, I -discovered- these people. I'm like the man who discovered Kate Bush. Hah. "Discovered." Life moves pretty fast, Sloan. I mean, Mia Sara. I mean, "Me-Uh." Wow, Humanity has a lot to learn about consciousness and the nature of reality. For example: I miss my stupid goddam friends. Who were, as it happens, agents of vampyr.
I doubt they are now. But, they -were-. Scary shit. I mean... that way all the time? Or did they suddenly get mas turned when I started nosing around? I don't know, really. Things are hazy in my recollection. and now, really, what's to remember? Your expeirence was not my experience. Because you all thought it was good to not notice my feeilngs (beacause you are all dopeheaded slaveboors) and I noticed yours: ABSENT, ROUTINELY. AND TOTALLY OPPOSED TO KUCZI ADVANCEMENT.
I took a slingshot run. I'm not mad. I'm not resentful. I warned ye. Ye were warned. That was maybe around the time I got online threats from a Bellgab member. Who shall remain nameless. I'll just say: "Beta Dogstar." This was a person who believed his technological knowledge made him... set apart. And, it did.
Only Nixon could go to China. But no one could go to China and turn Xi Xingping into a hero, right? WRONG. I could have. I didn't feel like it, and no one asked. Meanwhile, someone else made him into Winnie The Pooh. With his hands in THE HONEYPOT.
Strictly speaking, we're all honeypots. Or rather, a Jar of Flies. Hey, remember Layne Stayley? I do. They let him die like me. They sealed him off, and he was found dead. In his house. Dude had money. Dude did -not- keep the right friends.
And now... where am I? OKay, so, pack it up, pack it in, let me begin. What's going on with me, Bellgab? For bonus points, what's keeping me going? And in closing... you wanna see the lastest threatening text messages I got? NO YOU DON'T!
Those are from my boyfriend! I WILL CUT A BITCH. You think I am fucking with you? I am not fucking with you. We're on edge. It's a fragile bond. You people have no idea. But... you knew about KMM (I found her picture posted on forum and instantly knew "L.E.O. confirmed" because -no way- would that be posted otherwise) and at least -one- person knows about KSM (A duper was delighted to call me up and say, "Do yhou know this? I do. DO hyou know that? I do. Do you wanna know the RLIDs of the next dozen names I spout off?") Oh... totes'n'dorbs, you glorious bastard, you.
NO DEALS. Simple, non? DEALS. NONE. How fucking hard was this? It was fucking easy.
Oh, but I traded her for nuns. And, I worked with my friend to steal her house. PTSD victim says what? Enough to activate wonder twin powers. And then, a happy moment comes in, and then... I get yelled at. I am horrified. I ask for information and I get stonewall and more shrieking. And, ever since... it's been going out like a bad pilot light.
That's what happens to fucked-off mindslaves, ayep. It's a real problem. Even now. Anywhoo, once I discovered that I was UNDER SIEGE (I dropped out of UW to line COOK at Pizza Hut) I immediately shifted my focus to match envrinomental priorities. Has it worked?
Well, let me ask you this, BG: if Phil likes me enough to say so when I come in to his "page" or "channe" without fail, and he's got a genuine smile on... what's he really telegraphing? Because I HAVE given that "man" space. *polite cough* I HAVE brought the Thunder. *post-traumatic vision of recall* I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT WATCHING ONE (1) MS. MAID SLEEP--she passed out, she couldnt maintain... as she had been partying hhhhharrd all week, without me, I come on the weekend, she is run down, haggard, and had clearly been havijng adventures in babysquatting. How did her parials break? I had a vision, eventually: they were stepped on.
By a thug. Who was bullying her. When I wasnt around. That she felt she couldn't tell me about. Because she fucked up. When she ignored what I told her when it was tedious to bother recalling her agreements. Or, you know, was just running on pure energy of lies.
"As a member of a special social status class with particular legal protections, my communications have special privieleges." No one, but no one, has heard this and given it any amount of respect at all. None. Meanhwile, guess what? It's not at trick. It's a thing. Do you remember what happened when One (1) Ms. Maid and One (1) Ms. Made swapped places? No, you don't.
I instantly realized: "They are all such self-absorbed narcissitic doucebags that, even though it is now oooooobvie, abovie, supertotesabove so below, wow, pork belly futures are dropping, sell Mortimer! Sell! Sell! Sellllll-*dwindling scream*why don't we buy anything? OH, that's right, we can steal"---steal! steal! steal! laugh! oh, by the way, what was DAVE WILL COCK thinking about me before his wife swiftly abandoned him and left hm alone to be raped'n'probed?
Well, hopefully he was thinking, "This man is the most obvious existential threat the clandestine forces haver ever seen, and now that Uncle Duke has seriously pissed him/it/she off, we have got to be on our toes. Everything can change in an eye blink." And, it has. Now don't get me wrong: I love Uncle Duke.
He's also a coward and a cuntfaced pillhound. Blackjacks, whiteyes, protable coke cappres, tooty-fruies... everything, in fact, except: THE POWER TRIO. I won't tell you what that is, any of you.
I am not here to mess with anyuone and their security clearances. Really serious stuff. Nor, do I want to "say that I want a revolution," or, raise any rabble, nor do I seek anarchy, nor any damage to anyeon at all. Good citizen. Nice citizen. Citizen remains free of custody. This is important. Becasue I knew it waw only a matter of tie befroe struggle came to my door.
And, here it is. They regardless of repsonsibility, with my cat, and parents and house and ky health, all attacked by people who wanted to find reasons -not too- help, rather than reason too help--because no idea of the problem.
And when I found the problem, I knew what I had to do. FUCK FACE. Like we used to do! Like we did last summer. Let's twist again--like we did last year.
Except... you know, we're gonna totally isolate Grapefruit from Jackstar. Why? Meh, they felt like it was time. I wasn't doing enough, or something. I dind't derserve what I had? zTook her for granted? lol. Okay. Well... look, I don't wanna blow it up.
It's blown itself. Now, I've told everyone that I can about Albert Camus' "The Plague." Did I fucking stutter? Because no one is on this right.
#1) It's fucking titled "Plague." COVID-19. Right?
#2) He wrote it while living in a hotel room in Paris, Fance, during WWII. Which was fought on, over, with, thourgh,about, and becaues of UBERMENSCH TECHNOLOGY. I just saw someone try to teleport in. Just as I typed that word. Not Ubermensch. TECHNOLOGY. Okay, so?
#3) Much like The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Grateful Dead, and every other CIA-sponsored and otherwise- megaproductiion group, he sat around using tons of entheogens while making art. _And that's okay for them, but not for me, I suppose. Well, that's good to know, is it because I'm too pretty? Or is it because I'm not in you're little club? Well, whatever, I was told to read this book in high school, and didn't. It sounded boring, and might have been. However, had I been told that the author was high AF the whole time her wrote it, well, that might have been useful to skim for technicques.
When I found that I had been lied to by a pair of swindling thieves, who were themselves being pushed around, oh, what a fucked off shitshow the whole thing was. One person plays another, and so on down the line, and I was supposed to let myself be consumed by everyone for the good of the group. I didn't. I have taken the road not traveled. Seems like it made a difference.
It was like a flickering imagine on a paused sreen. It was - Idon't know what- Blue beam, sure maybe. Looking glass? sure, maybe.
Did I tell you about the time I traveled forward in time and destroyed the Project: Looking Glass main facility? Because I did. And then, I traveled back in time, and caused it to be rebuilt. I am, like, Hungarian. Other famous Hun-Gary-Ins? Einstein, a cousin I met briefly the one time my father took me there, and (#haiissekret). Hang on. Let's change cameras.
I haven't washed my hands clean of this. Ramona called up my unit: I'm Active. Welcome to The Next Level, now... take me to... Your Teacher.
I mean, your Jackrabbi. Or, rabbi. Eh? Right? No? Huh. Interesting.
#1) Have I ever actually met Ramona or Art Bell in person? Nope.
#2) Do I seek to exploit their memory? No, and I don't really want to exploit their's. But really, Bellgab, take note: two dead people have more energy than you thuggie extortionist bully scumbags do. Look at what you're doing: you're backup intel video surveillance jockeys for roving bands of criminals. It's boring. I give zero fucks about your exposures of... what? Seriously, it's not as thought I am that important, but the money being siphoned away while I sit around doing very ilttle... until I write alot, well, I woulnd't kinow how to make that money anyway. What do I care? You're the ones who are addicted to more and more. I am not addicted to anything.
I came here to say good bye. I am being held in place so you leeches can feed. It is sad.
but I'm not her little b**** like Trump is.
Perhaps this was a bit too far. Meanwhile, hey Heather--I find it hard to believe that you find me any threat at all, and the story I heard was that a manipulative confidence trick -forced- you to block my number. Now, look, it was a different time, a different place, and a different you... and the same ol' me. I was always like this, except, for one thing I couldn't breathe right, and for another, I was puzzled why it seemed like nothing ever worked right in life.
Well, now I know. I've been targeted by flying momkeys, lol. Well, the joke is on --ook ook-- them, as I always knew that the money wouldnt' last, and so, burning it down was called for. Now, here's what's crucial: i haven't openly asked for help. I just asked Grapefruit and her family.
She helped some other family instead. Nice job. I guess you had a nice time with him shooting meth, and stuff. Now, listen, as my love for you is not predicated on yoiu being exclusive to me, this doesn't chagne how I feel, but it does change my plans and how I will execute them. And I've been excited to get going for a year now.
So, are you all going to collectively stop dragging your asses around me? It's the most plaintively vile thing I've ever seen. You ppeople are utterly without character or meaning and no wonder she never told me what you were all doing. It's the kind of thing a gang of child and sexural predators would do, and I would hope that you will all be smart enough soon to stop delberately fucking over my life for some kind of percentage. I had assumed that mutual respect would be on offer here, but I guess not, what, does someone want revenge? Can't revenge self-defense. Why not just stop trying to beat me up?
The foundational work that your goon squads have done to manufacture a case has been largely destroyed. It won't hang together. Your alleged victim has similar habits to mine, well, if I'm banned from her for life, it won't matter, but I was happy to be on the same page as her for once. Of course, she probably needs 8 times as much as I do and is surrounded by children, but that's okay: she loves children. Go stay love the children. Maybe you can play a game with them? Children love playing games, and so do women, except with me, unless the game is how to figure out how to pretend he didn't know what I was doing.
Here's what I am doing now: give you all the opportunity to gently disentangled from my life. I neeed my ophones working, et cetea... maybe you think I'm supposed to be off-kilter and dow what I amt told faster, but the reality is that I think you probably should have thought of something useful to do before now.
Perhaps there is a competetor I coudl; use, or, just ignore
