I hate to see it, or even say it, but "Armed gangs attacking South Africa's state-owned infrastructure, disrupting electricity-generating plants to freight-rail lines" smells like CIA agitation. Thoughts?
They hate what you have tried to do to me -that- much, and figure that since I have limitless electric power for free at my home... somehow (word spreads quickly in The African Bush)... they don't need electrical planets either. Or plants. They don't care. Honestly, can they even find South Africa on a map? I don't think so.
And, speaking of "what you have done to me," uhm... who authorized this chickenshit outfit to do all this crap, and what name are they signed in under at the County lock-up? I figure if he was in New York, then... well, anyway, whatevah. I can read just fine, and I simply stress this enough: MASTER of DIVINATION.
Don't make me a Doctor of that. You wouldn't like me if I were a Doctor of Divination. You'd say, "Jack! I thought you were a Doctor of Autodidacticism, not of anything else, are you... are you, HERE AND NOW, CITIZEN, ARE YOU STIPULATING FOR THE RECORD, HARK, CALL A HERALD AND AN ANGEL, I THINK WE FINALLY GOT HIM ON SOMETHING, PASSING HIMSELF OFF AS A FAKE DOCTOR! FINALLY! What kind of scum would do such a thing? Alright, call The Canadindian, they can just shoot him this time... what are you looking at?" And then I'd tell you what I was looking at: a young pup.
Then I'd tell her to lunge for your balls. At that point, I don't know what that young pup would do--because, you know, young, and I'm not Master of fuckin' Pups, now am I? And if I were a Doctor of anything else, it would be a big deal. I still remember when what's-her-face told me that I should get one.
I don't think she knew she was serious. I duitifully applied. ~3 weeks later; boom. Documents drop. She couldn't believe it, so I pretended I couldn't see them either. Now, where was I?
Oh, yeah, at home, waiting for someone to come unabandon me. You twerps don't get it. Sure, I can just leave. Sure, I can cause the place to be sold. Sure, I can start filing papers and getting my money back, blah blah. And at this time, I am not doing that.
I simply would prefer to stay... and if you think I'm going to let either him, or her, or the other her into this place, there is not one fucking chance in Hades I am going to go from Master of the House to Lord of the Underworld... in this place. Nuh-uh. You don't know the half of it. Besides,I don't have to do what you think I have to.
I can cause this house to be sold direct. I can go around The Trustee's Choice, and use Folger's Spacetime Folder's Crystals to sell this goddam place to anyone I so choose, at the minor inconvenience of... well, I don't know what, because I don't wanna do that, however, Spirit assures me, avenues and channels do in fact exist.
You should probably be a little less snooty, Daisy. Laser. Missy. 5^55? Look, you're not scoring any points here. And, I just called out your other friend, and both of you are patently absurd individuals... but at least you're not quite as dumb
AS HER WHORE OF A MOTHER. Now, that is what I call
dumb.
Because in addition to stealing mail and allowing herself to be replaced by a mudclone (classy), she seems to have thought that I was some kind of problem. Wellllll, maybe I was, And maybe, just maybe, she should have checked with me before making any assumptions.
p.s.: you never get to do drugs with me, ever. Point black period. (eeeeeewww.) You have lost all your fun tickets with me. Mourn the loss, because I just did.
pp.s.: briefly. You can do whatever you want with your real friends, of course, I am not a cruel man. I am a cruel-whoa, wait, what? You don't do drugs and you've never heard of them? Hang on a second.
ppps.: FUCK YOU, MUTTLEY. *dismisses class* You're dismissed as well, although... you should have some class, shouldn't you? You certainly paid enough for it. And I never believed your story, naturally.
it was the exact same story as mine, and at that point, I knew something was rotten in Denmark, and you did too. Now, I'm going to tell Tamara (sup.) who set her up with The Bad Date at Del Taco (yep.) and you're going to suddenly realize that you picked the wrong friend to sacrifice. Because I didn't "doxxx" you at all, now did I?
Where there even any foundational documents? Pfft. Anyway, I am not a magician of information. Remember that.
And if you ever call me a junkie, I might just find out what this whole "IV drugs and rape a bitch" thing entails. This is not a threat--you'd like it, obviously--but then I am sure Tamara would want a turn, and then, well, I guess I'd be off to the races. At some point, you'd lose tenure.
See? No threat at all. Just Special Consequences for Cons & Quinces.
