Yeah, I'm in charge of vampire licences in my local sphere of influence. What? Someone has to be.
I would imagine that astute,
considerate vampires ask for Me by name when it comes to choosing an Arbiter or a Magistrate for whatever God forsaken (literal) purpose their God sort-of-forgiven (seemingly actual; check) culture needs a quasi-Human to serve in one of those four Roles, however I'm not clear on what the third one might be (I'm
new.) and when it comes to Adjudication... I'm not ready for matters as of and in regards to vampire handling, nor am I interested in taking the time to learn, because, you fuckers know Me, and you can believe this statement on the way to taking it to the g. dam bank: I would just walk into the room, just fucking stake them all, and then just
a jew defecate fucking leave. Boom. They're done.
Education over. This is why I have my own robes (deep blue, Rabbit grey, but don't have a red/green one though, and that matters), and why I need my own gavel. You know that material composite that they make the stealth Blackbird out of? I want a gavel made of
that.
Your Judge is glass, Graqefruit. (No contact a NYC A.F. Shaw.) You couldn't call a legit Meeting if your life depended on it, although I'm sure you could win a few hands of Hearts with one handful of bullshit and wishes in the other. This time my hand filled up first.
Jackstar
cares. But I don't care enough to get my fucking robes and fucking run around being a fucking Adjudicator today. You're not even paying me. You're not even fucking me. YOU DON'T EVEN GIVE ME A GODDAMN HUG.
Ladies and gentle Graqefruit man, here's your sign: MAGI STRAIT HAT JACK-ET. Yeah, I guess I'm from another planet,
hooray. So that makes me need to kiss my own ass to go to Heaven, and that's not happening anytime soon. I have an
actual Life, People.
And
(You) know
exactly who fucked up this house, and you're going to fucking pay for it. Like,
literally, you're going
to pay to
fix it.
You should probably be willing to throw in a little fuckin’ elbow grease for me there too, unless you're tired from fellating all that bull-fed-grass asparagus you've been growing down in (Blank).
YOU DON'T EVEN GIVE ME A GODDAMN HUG.
That's not a wandering Jew; that's a wandering
chicken. Cluck cluck
goose, Tripod. I would tell you that if you stayed with me, you'd go far; but you already noticed that, I'm sure, since you've obviously been taking Advantage.
Bee Money:
you're off The Team. Reason: you're making it too hard for me to enjoy my drug binge, so
GET THE FUCK OUT.
