I can reset the password for you, if you want.
HYPOTHESIS: Someone logs me out of the server, then logs in as me, then sends private messages to one or more other users (so as to alert other members of their "Team" that something of immediate and time-sensitive importance has been revealed and/or discovered), which are then deleted or otherwise obscured to my notice--perhaps some kind of "Nerdo Trigger Mode" is employed.
How the fuck should I know? I'm a writer, I like this forum software, and I innately know how to code for machines--but that doesn't mean I automatically know what is going on under the hood. Also, I do absolutely no background deep-dive type of research on this. I do not hire private investigators. I do not act in secret and plot deceptive schemes with others in order to gain advantage over others. I do not obsessively Google people and their content or their social media in order to find out little details.
In short--I don't know what you drooling m0m0s are doing, nor how it is done... but I -know- that -something- is being done, by a substantial number of people, and not a one of them--NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON--has revealed any of these inner workings of "conspiracy" to me, although I hesitate to use the term.
It's a powerful word. Conspiracy! Villagers! Pitchforks! Mass hysteria! But sadly, it is the word to be used, as the people who are engaged in such activities in my area of life experience... these people who talk about me, talk with others about matters that involve me, and agree to the principle of holding my awareness in secret, while sharing information with each other, well. WELL.
It's become a grafted monstrosity of obsessive horror. Do I love it? No. But I do admire it, what we have all wrought here together upon the skeletal scaffolding of my hollowed out life... all of you, together behind the scenes. Me, myself alone, on the stage.
Bathing in the limelit footlits. Center stage, as all the world is, and players come and go, but the one constant is, I'm there, on my spot, on the stage, in the middle, constantly surrounded, yet forever alone.
Standing under buckets of pigs' blood. Note, Dorks: BLOOD. FROM PIGS.
Now, I can't explain why The Great Drenchening has yet to occur, but you know there are people howling for it. They paid for it. They paid for bloooood. And now, more than ever, they fucking want it.
They're gonna get it, too. Mobs are like that, especially when crazed with bloodlust. And by now, some of them must very well be. You would not -believe- the digital shadow that all this garbage has cast over the whole of my life. Fortunately, well, no family, no pets, no friends that are not paid informants... not a lot of leverage there.
And make no mistake: these people want suffering. They hardly want my death. They hardly need yet another house--they basically have all the money in the world, if not the ability to walk down its streets freely. That's pretty much the deal, when one goes Full Outlaw... money no longer is attached to fair exchange of value, it's just another commodity to be struggled over. It's tempting, don't get me wrong.
Trouble with being Full Outlaw is, no one would believe for a goddam minute that I would be such. Even with my life in apparent shambles, well for one thing, it's not. For another, I am no Job and this is no result of a wager between God and The Devil. I am not being punished to test my faith.
Hell's bells, people: i am not being punished -at all.- Sure, it's kind of sad--so sad, really--to see people repeatedly holding lit firecrackers in their clenched fists and then becoming surprised that, once again, I am immune to fist-clenched explosives, look, seriously, People: MAGICKAL SHIELDING.
Obviously that sounds like bullshit. Thus, the lengthy testing process. Obviously if I can create wards of imaginary arcane potency that can withstand the flowing rivers of odious bile that come out of this place, well! I might really have some tech to write home about. (It's all just prayer and devotion to G-d and country, so... don't get too excited. No eyes of newt--of course endangered and very dear in cost. No ritualistic sex during blood orgies--of course the sheets get stained, and Scotchguard, well... let's just say, it's a mess, at the beginning, in the middle, and especially at the bottom. No thanks.
I would make a very poor Merlin and Camelot would not be well served any tenure of mine as any Court Magician. I am apolitical these days, and I fucking mean it: I don't care who is running things, I care nothing for the local corruption clearly evident in the local color and constabulary... every land has its bad apples, you dig?
I didn't come here to cleanse The Land of corruption. Oh, no. I came here, because the woman I love BROUGHT ME HERE. Now, why she did that? Heh. HEHE. I swear, I have no fuckin' idea... and frankly, I don't even care to find out.
I've seen hostile spells--actual magic shit, Kids--actually cast at me by lunatics wiggling their goddam fingers at me and I have observed visual effects as shit has, at times, literally bounced off my mojo. Is that cool to witness? Well, yeah. Does it make me insane? Well, no... what -would- make me insane, is if I could no longer distinguish the difference between "real" reality, and "idk-wtaf" reality.
Lots of scholars have written about this before. I have no need to go into this any further. I mention this to bring context to present the following:
These opposing forces that are -highly- interested in me now will simply never, ever stop... partially because I do not wish them to. Let me explain:
My tech needs testing. As unpleasant as it is, there are no crash test dummies I can solicit for the task, and it should go without saying... I would hardly ask another to do something I would be unwilling to do, and in truth, I have no solid or demonstrable evidence that I myself and all the rest of the people in the world who pay attention to this experience of "Reality" that can be had... like, seriously, we all might just be fucking crazed lunatics.
That being said, I would prefer lunacy to wandering around the world wearing a diaper on my face and injecting minor children with ill-tested and obviously adulterated "vaccinations" which, in my view, were absolutely nothing of the kind. And the phenomenal irony in basically the whole world thinking that IV crystal meth (I don't, never have) and use needles all the time because I'm a getting-high obsessed weirdo (I am neither, and that should be obvious to any and/or all bothering to pay attention) and that a bunch of dorks who stood around and let Biden be declared Stage President while Obama and Trump played Puny Civil War behind the scenes in the Continuity of Government hyper-structure, where the real power in the U.S. is located.... okay, they can tell me they know it's okay to use needles on children, but just for their vax they approved, but I, no matter what I am doing, cannot be trusted--at all--with any sense or legitimacy, even though while in reality, I quite enjoy followong the law--it really makes the weed taste better when isn't illegal--and of course, it goes without saying, all I wanna do is find every children I can and shoot them up with LSD. Right in the carotid! Right? Because there's a bunch of poorly articulated Internet shitposts that suggest I'm some kind of deviant.
So. Needles for the White Coat Gang, but even though I watched my mother stab herself 3 times a day and then eat cookies for 4 meals a day, not what she was "supposed" to do, but since she was buying cookies over and over and over, and wasn't brewing up crystal in the basement with me (fuck we would have been a grand Breaking Bad team, me and Mom, but no, and I found out later why--she already broke the bank before I was born) my mother was totally accepted by polite society, mostly, although I think most people wondered why she bothered with my father and I. Certainly, when growing up I could not figure out why they hated each other... it sure wasn't meth, that's for sure.
Or maybe it was. I don't know. I have -no idea,- and now they're dead. Nevertheless, even they would probably wonder about the truth of me, if all they had was everyone they ever knew or were going to meet, talking about the truly ludicrous amount of false paper and exaggerated reports that have been spread all over the Internet from hell to country fucikin' breakfast... just a huge long scree of stuff that I never actually did. Never even had the opportunity to do.
What the fuck? Oh, well, most of you know, but grats to me, I finally figured it out: SOMEONE WHO DOES DO ALL THAT SHIT IS EXPECTING TO GET ME TO TAKE THE FALL FOR ANY NUMBER OF THEIR LOATHESOME CRIMES... and then, with me safely tucked away and neutralized, all my remaining resources would be... you know, theirs. Ripe for the pickings, as they say.
The worst thing is not that this has happened. No, this shit happens all the time. The worst thing is that people are actually talking to other people, about me, and -not- talking to me, and believing what other people say about me to be... more accurate than what I am saying about myself. Like... what the fuck? You can't be that stupid. Can there be that much fiat money in black budgets to support the losers who need to eat and pay for electricity while they spend, literally, COUNTLESS HOURS OBSESSING OVER ME AND MY LIFE.
Now, I am pretty. But I am not -that- pretty. There must be a large number of people who had banked on myself being taken out of the picture so life could move on for everyone who ever wanted to dump off their criminal and civil liability on to me... because, holy shit. Like, I am not worth this much trouble... I thought.
And, of course, the other little quirk that has exacerbated the complexity of the situation, is that in response to all this seeming malfeasance, I have done... basically nothing. Nothing at all.
Who would I even report to? I told Jesus to go whoop their ass. Asses have been whooped, I can assure. Was I there? Do I know details? Fuck no! I don't want to see people bleeding on the cold moneychangers stone floor with their incubators and shit, no. I just want people who damage me to, you know... STOP, and have them gently moved to some other part of reality. One where I do not have to deal with their loathsome tactics and the tactics of their ilk.
I've considered changing my identity--faking my death, all that kind of jazz. However... hey, uhm, I like my identity.
I LOVE WHO I AM. Y'all don't even know the half of it. It's not just how pretty I am, oh no... I got skils, too. Mad skillz, yo. Believe it.
Or, you know, you could believe what Azzerae is saying about me on his podcast. I do appreciate the disclaimer. I thought I made it a bit long, but I have to hand it to him--he read the whole damn thing, and he did pretty good at it too. And, as a free speech absolutist, I can't really get too upset and the utterly vile and repugnant things I hear being said about me. At this point, I can only throw up my hands--hell, the whole of the arms, they ain't tired--and recognize that, well, there's no way he is -actually- so stupid as to believe the fantastic, mendastic statements he's made about me. Just in the last ten minutes, holy shit.
Claims I pal around with Rubini all the time making tons of rape jokes. No, in fact, I don't think I've gotten call from Rubini Prime in months. Others have called who -sound- like Rubini, and I collectively call these people "Fauxbini," because "faux" means "lying pig" in French, I think. Maybe not pig. Maybe dog. Who knows? The point is... I get phone calls, and I answer them, and because I am not a coward and I relish the challenge, rather than suddenly hanging up the phone and running for an audio bunker, screeching all the way... I just talk back.
Most of my phone communications with anyone who sounds like David Rubini--and it takes a certain amount of technical skill to impersonate him authentically, it does not seem to be "plug-and-spray-spittle-LET-ME-FINISH-LET-ME-FINISH-JUST-TWENTY-MORE-SECONDS", no. It varies. Some people seem to be better at using highly classified software that is meant to seamlessly hide the actual identity of the user and replace their image and likeness--real time, on the fly, on camera, on panel, on stream, EVERYWHERE... it is very sophsiticated.
I believe that I am essentially being used as a software tester for what amounts to be, at this time, an internationally acknowledged and widley reviled group--or "gang," if you must--of the most loathsome, sickening, and vile reprobates that have ever walked the surface of the Earth. Perhaps in the future, this will be "The New CIA" or "M.O.S.S.A.D. Non-Sloppy Second" or hell, maybe "The New New O.S.S. & Osterman Weekend of Dancing With The Stars," like sure, high-level State diplomacy fascinates me, but how the Punylings are gonna work it all out once the dust has settled and the smoke has cleared from WWIII-V or whatever... look, that's not my area. I have no women. I have no children. I don't even have any friends--if I did, well, they'd probably wonder why I keep getting fucked with by crooked cops and white hat spooks while my entire digital life is hacked out directly through my own anus and looped back again... because, while I do know how to, like, reformat my phone, install a firewall ,all that? I don't do none of that.
I work on tuning my shields. Fuck your firewalls, Bill Gates. I'm breaking new ground. Does it work? Oh, Hell no. My life is a disarray and
totesfucked in every direction, although at least my anus does work. However... it's not being tested to see if it "works." It's being tested because... IT EXISTS.
Yeah, I feel good about where I've taken my life. I don't give a shit about getting a Nobel Prize. I think that's just a joke. What I do care about is that there are really only two possibilities: either I've crafted something quite special and utterly unique, or, I've done a shitload of background work for an upcoming epic series of fictional novels. I mean, sure, not a great way to make lots of money, but I don't care much about that, and besides, it's a thing people do.
Not so much successfully while being haunted by a gang of... well, let's just say, there's a lot of gangs in the world, and at this point, rather mor than basically bucking all of them have heard of my exploits, which are seemingly a big deal, for reasons that aren't entirely anything but totally opaque.
So anyway, at this point, being banned from 3 out of 4 *Gab sites, and being routinely lambasted by the "owner" of the fourth... and the real problem is the lack of class I see in the gaslighting. For example: Azzerae is on in the background, and he seems fully unaware, or fully incognizant of the necessity to do so, because he's relentlessly implying that I am some kind of "whiner" for being less than thrilled about being totally isolated from society, and that if I "only treated people better" I would have "more friends."
Okay, let me explain this to you. More friends == more kidnap and extortion targets. More people who wish to harrass me, find me largely unmoved--I went to public school, IDGAF about most tactics, do your worst, Geobbels--and what has happened in the past, is that people I do not know, seeking to harm me, actively lie to, attack, assault, defame, and generally make life difficult for anyone who dares make it known to anyone that they do, in fact, like my personality, and wouldn't mind, you know, inviting me to a cook-out, or their wedding, or who knows what, yeah?
Look, botttom line: no friends means no avenues to attack me. I defy anyone to claim that this "paranoia." Right now, listening to Azzerae, he's mocking me for considering the believe that there are "secret" groups of people on Twitter, he uses as an example, and he brazenly, with his bareface hanging out, that I am delusional for even thinking this, and that I cannot "prove" anything.
DUDE I FOUND A CHAT ROOM OF OVER 42 PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT HOW MUCH FUN IT WAS TO CYBERSTALK ME, DEFAME MY REPUTATION, MAKE MONEY OFF MY IMAGE AND LIKENESS THROUGHOUT ALL MANY OF NEFARIOUS SCHEMES. I LISTENED TO THEIR "SHOW." I PUT IT ON YOUTUBE WITH MY COMMENTARY ADDED, WHICH MAKES IT FAIR USE, BTW.
This is why there's a disclaimer for Azzerae to read. He's knowingly, openly... telling false facts about me. A lot. A LOT A LOT. In an earnest, "Trust me I'm Hitler and Jackstar is a jew" voice. I think he's practicing to be the South African Adolf, to tell you the truth.
However... I mean, shit, can I really complain? "It is better to be talked about than not to be talked about at all." Arguable, Mr. Wilde, but fuck it, back before the Internet maybe so. In any event, I love Azzerae, I think he's a very talented artist and in spite of what might be a very poor outlook on those of what he deems "inferior" genetic stock... I see him as a creative force to be, not reckoned with in the future, but to be perhaps... even exalted. I'm not sure why he thinks Hungarians are niggers and that makes him entitled to my family's wealth and house and shit, but... well, whatever. It's South Africa, fuck, I'm glad he doesn't chew with his mouth open.
He really is quite good at shit. Like, art shit. He has many talents, many more than myself... I pretty much just do one thing well, and that is... use WORDS.
Thought. Word. Actions. These are the Three Levels of Creation. And I have chosen to excel in the use of Word, as a surgeon would excel in the use of a scalpel.
Between the Alpha of Thought and the Omega of Taking Action, all of our consensual reality passes from one end to the other, from start to finish in a great neverending circle, the Ourorobourus of Time and Space... and right in the middle, one singular aspect of the human experience:
LANGUAGE. And I am a Master at it. (A monoglot, really, but that can be a strength of depth, and do I really need to seduce women in more than one language? Nah.)
This is why the psychological narrative tricks that convince people to think in certain, directed ways, and plots and schemes that are storyboarded out in boardrooms and then played out on the surface of the Earth by paid actors, agent provocateurs, and Agents of Law, both valid and invalid... all of it passes through the eye of the needle... there's a story, there's a narrative, and as I speak English, it gets presented in English by necessity.
This my Area. Words. Talk. Face it, I am unbeatable. However, I am not undefeatable, as that depends on what I decide my future victory conditions are. As of now... I've basically given up on hoping Azzerae will become a person who spreads true facts about me, rather than what he is now, which is a "Black Public Relations" mouthpiece, who whether he knows it or not... is working hand-in-glove with opposing forces who didn't like seeing me with a close, intimate partner.
Oh no. And now that I am aloooooone, sob bluh, well, it should be easy to squash me like a bug,
non? Well, no. It's not. Because for one thing, I'm not insane at all... I'm
eccentric. Get it right.
Anyway, back to the hypothesis. No one knows, least of all me, what I am capable of. I didn't take notes. I didn't write things down. I didn't share things with co-researchers and conduct experiments... primarily because most of that may well be illegal or unlawful. Like, diagnosing people without being a doctor, or claiming that a person can cure diseases, or... all manner of shite. I had hoped to avoid all that, and I am of course tremendously lazy, and so "nothing on paper" seemed a neat solution to an otherwise thorny problem.
So, that's where we are at today. I am not largely friendless because I am insane, or unpleasant to be around, or any of that. I am living a solitary lifestyle and am allowing opposing forces to continue to keep me isolated BECAUSE I AM GENUINELY CONCERNED FOR WHAT MIGHT BE DONE TO PEOPLE I CARE ABOUT, WERE ANYONE TO KNOW WHO I ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT. (This is also known as "The Gwen Stacy Problem," and I do love spiders, but I am not the reprobate arch-criminal who has been hoaxing my identity for -at least- 12 years, probably longer, and has a tattoo of a spider's web on his scalp. Under the hairline, you dig? Can't see it when he has hair.
He shaves bald, and... well, it's like this, he's not going to be mistaken as me very easily... by anyone who ever met me. Who has met me these days? Well, not very many people, that's for sure. And people I've not seen in years? Oh, how easily fooled people can be, truly.
I'm kinda torn, really, don't they deserve what they get to allow themselves to be swindled? Well, no, they don't, and thought there's not much I can do about it directly, I still feel bad about it.
In any event, I do not expect this state of affairs to last forever. For one thing, I don't think there are too many arch-criminals left who think that fucking with me is a good idea... because, as it turns out, surprise, being bullied every day of my life for as long as I can remember--no really. every day. shrug.--has lead me to become a person extremely aware of my personal boundaries.
SO, that's why the disclaimer, and that's why, when I suddenly find myself logged out of the website after making a particularly delicious post, and I suddenly can't login--but i can with a different account, and then a few days later I decide to complain about it, even though I am met with nothing but scorn and derision, well, fact is, after I complained, I could log in again.
Arguably I don't even need to login at all--I should have some other platform to do "this" on, however by now, "this" has become I do not even fucking know what this is. Unlicensed and ethically-shady psychological experiment run by the military? Sure, fine, whatever. I've become rather desensitized to it all, quite frankly.
I have two goals and that's it: Medical attention for my hand--it really hurts. And, find my friends... because at least 5 people, I know for a fact, would quite like to have a simple friendship with me again, or at all, or whatever, as it turns out quite a few people who knew me before, weren't quite aware of what I was actually doing with my time, and thought I was just, you know, one of them losers who smokes weed all the time.
On balance, I prefer being who I really am than being rudely dismissed as some kind of drug-addled clownhead... especially as I can now feel free to speak openly about basically whatever the fuck I want, because while you lot were all wearing diapers on your faces and using needles to inject RFID chips into your children--anything to keep them away from me, huh? :rolleyes:--I have been doing actual research into fascinating fields--niche fields, to be sure, but that only fascinates a researcher specializing in occult and arcane technologies like myself.
(How anyone didn't see this as a giant tarbaby named Venkman is a total mystery to me, but fuck it, it's fun. Except for the murders of my family and companion animals and the abduction of my... whatevah and the incessant impossibility of carrying on anything like a normal social interchange while dealing with incessant waves of fucked-off Schweinhund, hellbent on vengeance, or bounty, or trophy, or what-have-you... like, I don't know. People are insane, and those that aren't, are pretty stupid, and everyone else, hey, I don't blame people for wishing to keep a distance from me.
I probably don't want them around either. I -especially- do not want the people around who are steadfastly COMMITTED to the notion of SEPARTING ME FROM AUTHENTIC COMMUNICATION WITH ANYONE AND EVERYONE WHO WISHES TO SPEAK WITH ME.
I don't really wanna talk to anyone unless they would like to talk to me, and anyone who does, guess what? Goes to the Internet.
Where the -real- trap door spiders lie a-wait.
Not sure what I'm going to do with all this just yet, but I'm still collating data. Meanwhile, literally never, ever believe a single thing Azzerae says about me, or in fact, what ANYONE says about me... because they are either openly seeking to decieve, or have decieved themselves, because NO ONE has asked me important questions, and yet EVERYONE who speaks about me on the Internet--that I am allowed to see--seems to think their opinion of me, at this point, amounts to a hill of beans in a snowstorm. Yeah, they're food. Start chomping in a blizzard, right?
Christmas is in 19 days and I have no awareness nor expectation that a single person remembers or thinks of me in any context other than "how can we get rid of him?" and/or "how can we take/steal\"confiscate, not steal, because we're better than you, oink-oink" all his stuff?" Like, tons of my property and monies have been pilferered and ransacked from me. TONS.
Do I need to complain? To who? Let me explain... this is The Algonquinn Way. I don't even mind so much what's happening to me... I've learned a lot. Don't worry about me. My concern at present is that... it does seem that the lies told about me could be of higher quality. More creatively entertaining. Less likely to confuse me with a scumbag who travels at night, hides in shadows, and impersonates me through the use of highly sophisticated software that I not only have zero access to... I have no knowledge on how to use it, nor do I even want to. Why hide myself? I'm cool.
It's probable that some d-bag is intentionally trying to spoof my identity--badly--so that people will assume that it's me, trying to impersonate something else, balh balh blah blah... it's really discouraging.
Except... well, they're doing it at all, so I must have value, and I stopped these gearhead dopeslave fuckmongers dead to rights in whatever "plans" they had, as I guess no one thought that "I am a Sourceror" was anything but an announcement of feeble senility.
Nope. *polite_giggles*
So that's what's up with Azzerae and I. I don't believe his statements at face value: he knows exactly what is going on, but is unable to declare loyalty to me in any way other than as sniveling worm who is ready to turn traitor to my interests at any moment... because, well, for one thing, he is. He's a fucking cartoonist, People, he's barely even human. Why isn't he a "doodler"? Oh no, that's not diginified, well, whatever.
None of this is important in the final analysis. We all of us on this planet are all simply trying to hold hands as we walk each other Home. And you'll all get there, whether in singles or in pairs or a huge gang of cyberstalking pederasts. Shrug. Life is a ride. You are on it. And one day, you won't be.
I'll still be there. (Shortcut.) Don't get too nervous about it. But, uhm, yeah... There are literally three to five actual human beings that I have known, that I am under the impression they would like to talk to me... but at least two of them, I don't know if they're even still alive. I don't know if anyone of them know I am still alive. Occasionally the software tools that are used to separate my communications from others is quite effective, but still... one cannot stop the signal.
And in this case, the signal is Love. Grapefruit? THERE WERE A TOTAL OF SEVENTEEN OF THEM. I don't give a shit if that makes no sense to you, Dear Reader. What I am saying is that multiple people, under the guise of NO CONTACT EMERGENCY, are being kept from communicating with me, and the alleged "victim" may or may not be dead, in custody, full-on held prisoner, being blackmailed not to contact me, or just so tired of my bullshit that leaving me ultra-ghosted sounds like a good idea. As most of them are women, well, shrug, who knows why? And I cannot deny... I'm in a dangerous game these days.
Just because I'm winning doesn't mean I always will, and besides, I'm not tired yet, but I will be. I'm pretty fucking tired for real, though, of not being able to tell anyone the really cool stuff that I have found out over the last year... because I simply have no more confidants left.
This too shall pass and I will one day have a new identity and there will be a modicum of peace in my life. Until that happens, yeah, I'm delusional, sure, and the doodler from Johannesburg knows the real truth. Sure, okay.
Incidentally, everything you've heard about Spoofer's houseguest is a loosely-distilled rehashing of my own life, and it's a mockery of anything approaching Truth. As to why this complicated charade is happening, I can think of only one legitimate reason: some people heal slow, especially when shitloads of money has been funneled into trust accounts in the names of people who don't even know that this was done, and all of them are being pursued by sexual predators working diligently, ruthlessly and relentlessly to be fully compromised into sexual bondage/slavery and financial domination while being lead to believe that I am someone else, somewhere else, married to someone, et cetera, et cetera... it's all so goddam stupid, I can't barely recognize this shit has being even remotely relevant to anyone's interests, let alone theirs.
Meanwhile I'm just sitting here alone. I don't get calls. I just don't. My emails do not get returned. My phone calls all go to voicemail--no one ever calls me except obvious Feds and scam artists looking to get money, information, just for kicks, you know, whatever. Why I even have a phone is a reasonable question, but I assume at some point one of these absolute rocket scientist geniuses will figure out what they're doing wrong, or someone will do it too far one too many times... who knows. The center cannot hold this level of corruption, and I am certainly not interested in any of this shit. I told you MONTHS ago: this was a bad idea.
Meanwhile I'm going to continue to not make friends and not worry about the fact that you're all wasting your time. Really, it's been quite a peaceful year. What am I missing out on? Well, nothing I guess. Have fun being blackmailed and extorted? I guess? Yawn.
Someone is lying their ass off to everyone about me and evidently every single person either believes it or doesn't care that it's all bullshit. And what some of you don't seem to understand... this is a playbook. All of this has happened before, all of this will happen again, and I frankly don't know what about this situation is unusual at all, aside from the fact that I've been ripped out of my incubator and left to die on the cold stone-tiled hospital floor. Alone.
(Those of you who are pissed that I have suspended all payment service to all outstanding debt that I have until the end of the EMERGENCY can, quite frankly, with all due politeness, go soak your heads. Superwrencher can keep right on truckin' along, he's so badass--apparently he doesn't know what it is like to literally have nowhere to go. Yeah, go on and get all pushy, Buddy, I'm sure you feel lots better to know you have me under your thumb, lol, now go fuck my wife and buy her some shoes and tell yourself you're a real big studmuffin. Meanwhile, as has been the plan all along, I'll see to it that all my debts just... *poof* go vanish when I fuckin' feel like it. You know, like when someone fuckin' feels like noticing that there's no goddam EMERGENCY at all, you're all just a bunch of brutish, thieving criminal thugs, and delighted I am indeed to be of service in your entertainment needs. Frankly, I hope you party hard all over the peninsula in it without me, G-d knows you deserve it. For my own part, other things are cleared when i get around to it, and if I had anyone to actually help me, I might be more inclined to hurry it up. But I don't, and watching the carnage from a distance is certainly more pleasant than being sent to custody again. Hey, guess what? It's not against the law to hole up and wait.
It's also not against the law to sit in one place and slowly waste away to nothingness. /shrug. The only way to win a rigged game is to not play.)
Zugzwang, my Lovelies. Good luck explaining your budgets--and after you were all so expert about how much you knew about mine. Ironic,
non?p.s.: I WON YOUR GAME. Nice Winner's Circle I got going on here... literally no one bothers me for anything except to threaten me for money or to pretend they have concern for my well-being. I'm saving a bundle on hair conditioner, that's for sure.
p.p.s.: Hey D.V.R. D.N.R, I'm getting tired of Azzerae telling me that it's "creepy" I talk to you "all the time" (we barely communicate at all and you generally just hang up on me immediately after your triangulate and update your voiceprint on me--I don't know why anyone gives a shit who I talk to given that I'm digitally, fully isolated) and, you know what? It seems like I am the only one around who knows what actually happened, and maybe you should, you know, like, go to court? Prove your innocence? Defend your name? You could depose me! You could watch me get cross-examined! Doesn't that sound like fun? Oh, maybe not. Well anyway, you're both equally schizo as far as I am concerned and no one, anywhere, EVER, is gonna think I'm any less sane than anyone here. Unless I get poisoned with polonium or something. I just can't even be bothered, and no one is ever going to succeed in their attempts to render me insolvent. The only reason I am still here is that specious charges against me keep me in the state, and an obnoxious thug thinks that he's helping himself by slowing me down--he's not, I would have just left by now... like, I literally have no reason to talk to anyone here or even to post material here at all, it's just slightly less boring than playing video games and getting blasted. Shrug. I'll have more flexibility after I am exonerated at trial. (There won't be one, they're literally just going to leave it in limbo until whomever committed the most fraud that gets discovered first rolls over. My money would be on... well, I won't announce my wagers, I think that would be in very poor taste given that some people here are wildly liable for all manner of unknown shenanigans, and I, for one, am glad to finally be happy to not be invited along.) Trust me, I would love to go to trial immediately, but obviously that is not what I was sent to jail for. Pfftt. Put an innocent man on trial and let him clear the record of any and all doubt? That's so
bourgeoise.
Everyone just keep calling me a pedofaggot instead. I am sure this should help out society immensely. Kudos.
p.p.p.s.: if everyone could stop murdering my girlfriends that would be great. They just keep coming back, you know, and since I am utterly decoupled from common consensual reality, it's not really hard to just wake up in a world where someone who didn't exist the day before wasn't there, but I wasn't there either, so no one ever notices. I know, it sounds like horseshit, but that's largely because I'm not trying very hard to explain to anyone what exactly I mean.
Neither is anyone else explaining things to me, and so, long story short, that's why I'm not concerned about being implicated in MAJOR FELONY FRAUD. Have fun storming the castle, Kids. I'll most likely report the truck stolen in the morning. Or maybe not. You know what's funny? GRAPEFRUIT COULD REPORT IT STOLEN FOR ME. lol. Shrug. I don't know if that would make me jealous or not, but it might be worth a try.
tl:dr.mck; TEMPUS NON VOLARE SINE NOBIS.
