AzzCast Discussion

[Worthauger]

Get used to this view.

I am already budgeting for the necessary gasoline and condoms for conjugal visits.

What? This is The Plan.

p.s.: Thunderdome, motherfucker. *click*

[Worthauger]

#Official

"Grapefruit," "Greatfruit," & "SpaceMeowMaid" are different names for multiple people. Get used to this idea.

It is important that this fact is considered in its proper context, especially when moving forward, because some of the time, these people were one (1) "A.F. Shaw," and, I am under orders not to contact That_Person. (Nor do I wish to challenge that circumstance at this time.) However, as far as I know, I have no idea who or where or even when in time That_Person is currently Operating.

But, she does Operate. She also sends me telepathic messages from time to time, which is something that I have just had to have accustomed myself to. We love each other, we've known each other a -very- long time, the telepathic bond was established long before The Honorable District Court of The Great County of Cowlitz saw fit to involve themselves... and involved, they certainly are.

I am not allowed to converse with her, because for one thing, having telepathic conversations with with this broad who tried to steal my house is an idea of sheer lunacy. For another thing, if she calls me on the phone, if I pick up the phone and it's her on the other end, if I recognize her, I have to cease responding, because I have been ordered: there is AN EMERGENCY. And I am forced by law and my own integrity to obey. (I'm not getting strung up for this garbage nonsense. ONE FALSE MOVE and it's 364 days in the cooler, Hogan. Point Break Swayze.) So, it's been a difficult path to navigate.

It's also the best way Spirit came up with to explain to me what happened with Art Bell. Like, remember when he was gonna do lawfare with Michael Savage? What was that all about? I have no idea! It wasn't my business! And many wondered, myself for sure: why even, and what was it like, for him to be forced off the air for so long? And, how could one avoid that in the future?

Well, I am here to tell you, I know a lot about those kind of things now. Like, this fucking guy on this fucking "pussycast," Jesus, listen to this shit. "Jack, so many times, was so avaialble, and so desperate to be on the microphone.... *sfx: explosions*"

Okay, Nigger Tom Leykis, listen up: I appreciate the shout out, but I can assure you I am much more interested in getting on Grapefruit Alpha Prime with a Dairy Queen Blizzard on the side than I am in getting on the microphone. I can do that all I want. I have ascended. I have achieved Apotheosis. I'm a big deal around here. I have an -actual- Life, People--and it's awesome. I don't really need to talk about anything at all! And if I hired outside counsel, I'd have to, undoubtedly, STFU, and if The Court tells me to do so, I will do so. Already, out of an abundance of caution, I have restricted my own rights to speak out at length as to what is going on, and trust me, it is fucking fascinating. The things I am learning are frankly breath-taking in their significance, awesome in their scope, oh, and, I don't really have "a kingdom." (It's more like a fiefdom. Either way you call it, fuck you, the goddam place is mine. RAWR.) I can't really talk about it in specific... but, at least I still have the Constitutionally protected right to do so. I have the ability to do so. I don't have the wisdom to know when to finish once started, however.

But, I do have the capacity, the willingness, and the scrotal capacity that is required to carry the weight required to do it--finish the job--without becoming suicidal or relying on a Colonel Uncle Tom to help do it. Get out and push? No u. So there. You're a quadruple threat? You can do anything you set your mind to? Oh, really?

Come turn this place into a church with an alter and fuck her on camera then. Again. What? What? Make it happen. Come on then.

Make my day.

a distinct improvement although I don't know about that name, dude! But, at least you hyphenated it. “She made me do it”? Is that name taken? I like that.)

"One (1) Ms. Made," "One (1) Ms. Maid," and "SMM" are -all different people.- I don't know their names. I simply know that some of them I'm not allowed to talk to. Others, well, I'm not at liberty to say. THINGS HAVE GOTTEN COMPLICATED. It was before... for a toddler. Now, it's complicated for adults.

HOTFIX: “JACK*MATRIX” has a new name. (Kudos|Not_Kudos\*/KU-DOES) j*eolJ🌟055:0✂️0:550🌟Jloe*j (SEOpenis SONY ENTERTAINMENT ONLINE? WHAT A STUPID NAME FOR A NETWORK. SIGNED, (T_K./MIB)007;055;0j*eol055:0

See? Adults, like Mr. Sony. And adults like myself can get away with being verbally ironic by saying "Fuck you, Mr. Sony!" because I have the willingness to step up to the line and dance around a little bit. Do you?

Well, once I'm done listening to you apologize for yourself on your own "podcast," ugh, I might as well start studying for the Archlich exams--because this is Hell, you relentlessly mediocre limp-wristed and pill-willed artiste. If you only knew the shit I am going to have to be shoveling for the next several months because of your actions--and your incessantly repeated slander of my character while you conflated your own condition, with my own. You see, you are the diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic here, not me.

I'm the one monk (1+) monkeyman with five assholes, orbiting the comet-like Star with meteoric characteristics and "ILU FUCKING FRUITS" stenciled on the side of my nose-cone. Oh, you're butt-hurt, are you? Son, you don't even know the (HALF) of it.

You've made R. Bell cry. IRL. Sigh. Now, police are involved. Things have gotten well out of control, it would appear, and that is simply unacceptable.

If people knew how easy it was, very easy indeed, for me to -actually- seize political power in the wake of the COVID Apocalypse, it would set a very bad precedent. Because it would never be something anyone could ever duplicate, and one would have the Mandate of Heaven regardless. And, I did.

So, now I have a kingdom. Fiefdom. Whatevah. It's fuckin' mine, okay? People are already jelly. Because this shit is real, and if it weren't for you Klingons looking to get a whiff of my anus--I don't want anything to do with Uranus, thanks--I'd be building an observation tower on one end of my 4.1 acres and a broadcast tower at the other, as high as the local laws allowed, and then 5 feet higher, and then I'd build a goddam Thunderdome, right between them. That was my plan.

Instead, Grapefruit_Actual got abducted while I was separated from her and I guess now she believes that I'm good for something, so that's nice, but I suppose we're all tired of paying legal bills, right? Oh, right, except for me. I can handle my own choices of the terms of my own defense, thanks, Buddy.

One false move and it's Part Two of The Julian Assange Experience for me, yo. For real. I didn't enjoy Part 1 all that much, either. And, what were you doing during that time? Here, let help you out with that: say "no comment." I'm not your lawyer, but I certainly need you around. In plain sight, ideally.

You're her plausible deniability, motherfucker. You also will make a suitable stand-in for a decoy, suitable for framing or wrapping fish... and, you have.

[Jackstar]

You're her plausible deniability, motherfucker. You also will make a suitable stand-in for a decoy, suitable for framing or wrapping fish... and, you have.

Plans are being laid.

A man has limits.

And yet— no conversation. Pfftt.

[Jackstar]

And yet— no conversation. Pfftt.

I'm remarkably fascinated by the manner in which you continue to portray yourself as having been my friend before you were her friend but there is no universe in which I ever associated with you at all until she showed up because she encouraged me to talk to you; as before that I was perfectly content with sitting around watching you from a distance making the occasional Forum post directed at you but yeah having no actual awareness or inclination to discover anything more about your life until the time was right for me to go in and consume.


if you were under the impression that I am not aware of how these kinds of rewritings of history and narratives through mysterious forms of quasi-time perceptive-travel, well make no mistake I understand that you were attempting to rewrite history by changing the knowledge of the past in real time right in front of me number one you should know that it makes your podcast extraordinarily boring it turns it into a fucking deposition which nobody really gives a shit about (IF THEY DID THEY WOULD CARE THAT I HAVEN'T BEEN) and also secondarily it really just makes me happy as a clam to know that all of you are also completely unprepared to deal with me!

what the fuck? I've been here like almost a decade! Hi, I'm a Sourceror. even when I'm not high, and believe me I was surprised to discover it was real too, and that was a long fucking time ago. Long enough ago that it doesn't bother me at all to hear you disappointed with what I've been doing and what I've done, because you're going to be real fucking disappointed with what's to come, too. I take no pleasure with this certitude. You can't fucking figure out what to fucking do besides try to pretend that I did something I didn't? Well in reality I realize that your overseers are giving you instructions and you're probably not aware of just how badly it's addressing the elephant to the room to have this particular circumstance happen but the reality is is that whoever's giving you instructions hasn't talked to me enough to have any idea what the fuck they're doing about what to do next.

Plans are being laid.

I just heard Lieutenant Gorman telling Apone to take all the ammunition away from his Marines. I would imagine that what is to come is not going to go any better than it did last time.

For you. and happier news, you should know that there's a bottle of tramadol here prescribed to one miss made that I haven't touched I just found it the other day and I forgot that I was here and I laughed at it because I don't like tramadol, I don't think it is very impressive and she left it here on purpose because the intent was to get me to addict myself to some kind of opiate that they imagined/hoped they could hook me to. (I walked into this house in April and knew it was a trap. I'm still here. Let that sink in.)

so just so you know I'm going to continue to edit my podcast etc etc and be 10 ft away from a bottle of tramadol (FULL. 10 MG TABS, PILL-HOUND, YOU JELLY YET BRO???) and I haven't thought of it in months and I want to remind you that I have self-control and discipline—and you don't. Peace.


p.s.: Kindle is a dog whistle for Anita. She mailed me last week. This is embarrassing.
p.p.s.: you're right we can't be friends, since you're actually a woman. and, one day... I'm going to shred that fucking pussy long past the point it's in tiny little pieces, Hoover it up with a Dyson, and put it all back together again with each semi-swiftly repetitively stroking thrust, Twat-bearer. We're already more than friends. And obviously, I'm not hostile towards you, but one day you're going to die *sniffle* and when you go to Hell you're going to have the skills necessary from your experiences with me to teach Satan how to love. Mark my words.
p.p.p.s.: Your quote “(PROT) is talking to Jackstar a lot,” is wildly off base and factually incorrect, but I suppose she could be second, next after you, because I assure you make no mistake: I'm serious. I'm going to shred your vaginal canal, like it were made out of Clinton Foundation documents, and subsequent to that, I am obviously going to need a cool down period as well as a long hug. →{}.
p.p.p.p.s.: When they take you to the ER they're going to wonder... what's been in there: hamster or gerbil?

[Jackstar]

You're lucky you can feel at all! Have another round table, the effectiveness of long talk therapy has been conclusively proven.

Also: your voice sounds different on your most recent podcast... like, you have a frog in your throat.


I remain unmoved.

[Innerreach]

You're lucky you can feel at all! Have another round table, the effectiveness of long talk therapy has been conclusively proven.

Also: your voice sounds different on your most recent podcast... like, you have a frog in your throat.


I remain unmoved.

Yeah, well. That's because you’re an absolute sociopath that should be drug from your tent and hemmed up.

[Jackstar]

Yeah, well. That's because you’re an absolute sociopath that should be drug from your tent and hemmed up.

1) You're the one running a multi-participant years-long long-con and failing miserably at it, and I'm the sociopath? Huh. You and your gang must be really incompetent.

2) I don't have a tent. I have a hammock.

3) I believe the opportunity to offer me a settlement has not yet come and gone, so when you're done having a temper tantrum in public, maybe you can have your lawyer call me. Or maybe not, I don't really know how these things work. I guess since you f***** my secretary on my mother's couch, you can negotiate from there? I don't know; wipe off your chin and put on a fresh bib and get back to me later when you've stopped playing with your poop and making ”ook-ook” sounds.


You people are toddlers.

[Innerreach]

get back to me later when you've stopped playing with your poop and making ”Ook-ook” sounds.

You people are toddlers.

What in the world are “ook-ook” sounds, and how would you know of them? 🤷🤠🖕

[Innerreach]

Oh, yeah.... Nevermind...

[Jackstar]

What in the world are “ook-ook” sounds,

1) The noise a (Clas.) who thinks they're IN to dis-g*ys makes.

2) It's a thoughtless reflexive reflective response meant to convey the notion that the person agrees with and has received correctly whatever has been said before by the other person, and so when two people are doing it back and forth to each other, it builds up into an amplified crescendo of self-congratulatory s***-slinging monkeys bridging the final infinite gap of evolution: when they learn to throw it directly into each other's mouths, they never need to run out of ammunition or even stop for gas.

3) A lie repeated often enough will be believed, and the bigger the lie, the easier it is to have become tacitly consent to being bought in to something by saying, “oh-okay” a lot, in order to get another breadcrumb while being breadcrumbed by someone breadcrumbing, which is what everyone has been doing since the minute my mother died. Grasping hands grab all they can. It was f****** disgusting and it still is to this very day.

and how would you know of them? 🤷🤠🖕

Oh, my G-d, you breadcrumbing bastard baby little b**** baby bastard ponce, you literally do this all the time. You just call it something else, and since you've got a known history of choking and strangling people, or else being accused of such, or else saying out loud on a recorded line that you want to be punching someone's face, people generally say something to you that appeases your brutish, crypto-fascistic & ape-like sensibilities faster than with me around to check your thuggery with a Divinely-timed giggle. People tend to ignore my presence after a while, and if they can't get rid of me easily, opportunists wait. They look right past me, as if my rites carry no weight, and my destiny were of no density. As if my gravitas were entirely ersatz. What am I going to do, play Chess with them to death?

Actually, f****** yes, but long before we get to that point, I got to put up with everybody running their f****** game on me from breakfast to f****** sundown telling me their lying skein of b******* that they're telling themselves so long that they believe it to the hilt as well (just as long as everybody doesn't ask too many smartass questions, SHUT UP, JACK *click*) and it rarely comes out anything other than something blisteringly insipid that someone wants me to compromise everything that I hold dear for in, just go along with it, okay, OKAY? Well, sometimes it's not okay. That's usually where the (shit/poop) starts coming in.

Most recently I heard it all the f****** time, “I wubb you, (PROT-ID), ook-ook squeal!!! Oh wait Jack is here I gotta be quiet, tee-hee!”. This is a verbatim quote. I don't know which was more pathetic, that either of them thought that I had bought it or was ever going to buy it, or that either of them did. I guess neither of them really had a choice, compartmentalization of information being unquestionable to those two, and those of their ilk, and the effect of CoC and CoG on triple-hyper-secret boondoggles, like this one was, and whatever has been happening, it had to have been inevitable whatever has come to pass as a result, just like two toy trained brains with one sextoy track on their mind—keep on running, there's going to be a crash.


You got any more pertinent questions than this? I'm tired of your overwatch chocolate getting in to my oversight peanut butter.

Oh, yeah.... Nevermind...

You're damned lucky they gave me that battlefield commission. You're out of your depth, in over your head, and actually out of line. You actually are.

You can see why I chose to report this as strictly an internal matter—although I didn't really “report” so much as “invoke Divine Authority,” which is this cool trick I picked up at a bowling alley this one time shortly after high school. Don't worry about it. Everything's going to be fine.

Just fine. I would tell you what you need to know now, but you'd get all freaked out that I knew so well what it even was before you told me. Before you even knew for sure yourself. Before you even dug up the gumption to allow you to tell yourself, sharting your pants a little as you have so often, as you clench up to admit to your totesbeyondbratty and far too cheesin’crackers-privileged inner child that, you need me now. I don't know for what. I don't care for what. You called me. What? My mother was the patsy, I'm the Paladin-in-charge. Too bad you left your trinket, took the trash can and left all the treasure, CODENAME: HUNGARIAN INN, GARBAGE OUT. What do you expect me to do? Cry about it? It's really no responsibility of mine that every single one of you involved, past or present, started with a false premise: “he'll inject anything.” No, that's your genome, my genome produced Einstein. Your genome produced Auschwitz. Face it, Delta Force: you're fuckin’ done. Go shelter-in-place on some other mommy's other lawyer's land, you shot your wad here. I imagine you thought it was worth it. Tee-hee indeed.

Meanwhile, I need an advocate to hire a lawyer and file suit on everybody like I need a hole in my head. I'm saddened to hear that my inability to be comprehended by the best Punyling minds your crew has to offer in terms of cognitive capacity and emotional intelligence, as well as anything approaching anything like enlightened self-interest, has, in spite of what must be an astounding pedigree of thoroughbred breeding stock, not brought you the kind of thuggy-piggie pirate booty treasure chest payday of your dreams that you've always hoped for out of a big bad Hungarian (piñata/whale) such as myself, I truly am saddened to have learned all this.

But, I'm not sorry. I'm not culpable. I'm not liable.

And, I AM NOT GUILTY, Coonhound. You should be ashamed of yourself for hiding behind the legal system the way you have been, although to be fair, saying that you were hiding anything is a bit of a crock o’shit, because I saw you coming a mile away. And the shrieking still echoes in my ears! I still don't know what you were so upset about, and I can only assume that I cost you some sort of scumbag victory in some kind of hidden scheme you thought you were so clever to be hatching in what you imagined to be “secret.”

Jesus saves. Now, if you'd be so kind as to release my friends from bondage and let them f****** talk to me, that would be great for everybody, I have to figure out which of them I'm going to throw to the werewolves, which of them are going to catch the bus with me, and how many of them want to make a claim for The Pajamas Of The Grand ArchLich. (I don't know if they're silk, satin, or sow’s ear, but they're f****** enchanted, all right. Who's DNA is it at the door, Ding-Dong?)

And stop being such a little whiny bratty b****-baby brat baby boy-b**** bastard baby-b****. Some faux pas aren't mopped up after as easily as others. So I don't tell you how to be a plumber, you don't tell me how to be a diplomat. →[].

[Innerreach]

1) The noise a (Clas.) who thinks they're IN to dis-g*ys makes.

2) It's a thoughtless reflexive reflective response meant to convey the notion that the person agrees with and has received correctly whatever has been said before by the other person, and so when two people are doing it back and forth to each other, it builds up into an amplified crescendo of self-congratulatory s***-slinging monkeys bridging the final infinite gap of evolution: when they learn to throw it directly into each other's mouths, they never need to run out of ammunition or even stop for gas.

3) A lie repeated often enough will be believed, and the bigger the lie, the easier it is to have become tacitly consent to being bought in to something by saying, “oh-okay” a lot, in order to get another breadcrumb while being breadcrumbed by someone breadcrumbing, which is what everyone has been doing since the minute my mother died. Grasping hands grab all they can. It was f****** disgusting and it still is to this very day.

Oh, my G-d, you breadcrumbing bastard baby little b**** baby bastard ponce, you literally do this all the time. You just call it something else, and since you've got a known history of choking and strangling people, or else being accused of such, or else saying out loud on a recorded line that you want to be punching someone's face, people generally say something to you that appeases your brutish, crypto-fascistic & ape-like sensibilities faster than with me around to check your thuggery with a Divinely-timed giggle. People tend to ignore my presence after a while, and if they can't get rid of me easily, opportunists wait. They look right past me, as if my rites carry no weight, and my destiny were of no density. As if my gravitas were entirely ersatz. What am I going to do, play Chess with them to death?

Actually, f****** yes, but long before we get to that point, I got to put up with everybody running their f****** game on me from breakfast to f****** sundown telling me their lying skein of b******* that they're telling themselves so long that they believe it to the hilt as well (just as long as everybody doesn't ask too many smartass questions, SHUT UP, JACK *click*) and it rarely comes out anything other than something blisteringly insipid that someone wants me to compromise everything that I hold dear for in, just go along with it, okay, OKAY? Well, sometimes it's not okay. That's usually where the (shit/poop) starts coming in.

Most recently I heard it all the f****** time, “I wubb you, (PROT-ID), ook-ook squeal!!! Oh wait Jack is here I gotta be quiet, tee-hee!”. This is a verbatim quote. I don't know which was more pathetic, that either of them thought that I had bought it or was ever going to buy it, or that either of them did. I guess neither of them really had a choice, compartmentalization of information being unquestionable to those two, and those of their ilk, and the effect of CoC and CoG on triple-hyper-secret boondoggles, like this one was, and whatever has been happening, it had to have been inevitable whatever has come to pass as a result, just like two toy trained brains with one sextoy track on their mind—keep on running, there's going to be a crash.


You got any more pertinent questions than this? I'm tired of your overwatch chocolate getting in to my oversight peanut butter.

You're damned lucky they gave me that battlefield commission. You're out of your depth, in over your head, and actually out of line. You actually are.

You can see why I chose to report this as strictly an internal matter—although I didn't really “report” so much as “invoke Divine Authority,” which is this cool trick I picked up at a bowling alley this one time shortly after high school. Don't worry about it. Everything's going to be fine.

Just fine. I would tell you what you need to know now, but you'd get all freaked out that I knew so well what it even was before you told me. Before you even knew for sure yourself. Before you even dug up the gumption to allow you to tell yourself, sharting your pants a little as you have so often, as you clench up to admit to your totesbeyondbratty and far too cheesin’crackers-privileged inner child that, you need me now. I don't know for what. I don't care for what. You called me. What? My mother was the patsy, I'm the Paladin-in-charge. Too bad you left your trinket, took the trash can and left all the treasure, CODENAME: HUNGARIAN INN, GARBAGE OUT. What do you expect me to do? Cry about it? It's really no responsibility of mine that every single one of you involved, past or present, started with a false premise: “he'll inject anything.” No, that's your genome, my genome produced Einstein. Your genome produced Auschwitz. Face it, Delta Force: you're fuckin’ done. Go shelter-in-place on some other mommy's other lawyer's land, you shot your wad here. I imagine you thought it was worth it. Tee-hee indeed.

Meanwhile, I need an advocate to hire a lawyer and file suit on everybody like I need a hole in my head. I'm saddened to hear that my inability to be comprehended by the best Punyling minds your crew has to offer in terms of cognitive capacity and emotional intelligence, as well as anything approaching anything like enlightened self-interest, has, in spite of what must be an astounding pedigree of thoroughbred breeding stock, not brought you the kind of thuggy-piggie pirate booty treasure chest payday of your dreams that you've always hoped for out of a big bad Hungarian (piñata/whale) such as myself, I truly am saddened to have learned all this.

But, I'm not sorry. I'm not culpable. I'm not liable.

And, I AM NOT GUILTY, Coonhound. You should be ashamed of yourself for hiding behind the legal system the way you have been, although to be fair, saying that you were hiding anything is a bit of a crock o’shit, because I saw you coming a mile away. And the shrieking still echoes in my ears! I still don't know what you were so upset about, and I can only assume that I cost you some sort of scumbag victory in some kind of hidden scheme you thought you were so clever to be hatching in what you imagined to be “secret.”

Jesus saves. Now, if you'd be so kind as to release my friends from bondage and let them f****** talk to me, that would be great for everybody, I have to figure out which of them I'm going to throw to the werewolves, which of them are going to catch the bus with me, and how many of them want to make a claim for The Pajamas Of The Grand ArchLich. (I don't know if they're silk, satin, or sow’s ear, but they're f****** enchanted, all right. Who's DNA is it at the door, Ding-Dong?)

And stop being such a little whiny bratty b****-baby brat baby boy-b**** bastard baby-b****. Some faux pas aren't mopped up after as easily as others. So I don't tell you how to be a plumber, you don't tell me how to be a diplomat. →[].

Shhup... I'm talking to K...

[Jackstar]

I'm talking to K...

Arabic, Aramaic, or Cyrillic? I can tell you're in a mud hut, but I don't know which continent, not because it's on a need to know basis and I don't need to know, because I do need to know, because whoever it is finds me much more interesting to talk to than you. And it would seem that just can't be allowed to occur. Oh, but you're all over the place, having multiple simultaneous simulcast simulated simulacrum-centric strategy sessions about how you know best to produce stimulating results. Better than anyone. Better than me! Who gets to know what and when and for how long before you get off your fat, tubby ass and read me in. You should do a TED talk. You could title it, “Tex Knows Texts Best,” wherein you describe how you were able to nail down with pinpoint accuracy exactly everything you need to know about me before you made your sweet strategic dance moves, you dig me, Dawg? Woof! Tactical woof.

No wonder you have this massive inferiority complex. The only times when you can get paid to talk to anyone actually cool is when you've got some specious, trumped-up reason to claim that Kuczi is tangential to someone's billable hours. What a nice f****** racket you got going on there, Magnum P.-Oui.

At least until you go home, and it's all just you, and the bottle, and your mom, feeling like the walls are closing in with no one to talk to who would understand. No one who could understand. Or else you have to kill them. Or set them up for extortion, counterterrorism, revenge, coercive labor in an ongoing criminal apparatus, and a blind date with one of the many eligible candidates that make up the current roster of Mrs Paul's brood. Seems like there's a lot of turnover in that organization, and I bet I know why:

The reason is you.

[Innerreach]

Arabic, Aramaic, or Cyrillic? I can tell you're in a mud hut, but I don't know which continent, not because it's on a need to know basis and I don't need to know, because I do need to know, because whoever it is finds me much more interesting to talk to than you. And it would seem that just can't be allowed to occur. Oh, but you're all over the place, having multiple simultaneous simulcast simulated simulacrum-centric strategy sessions about how you know best to produce stimulating results. Better than anyone. Better than me! Who gets to know what and when and for how long before you get off your fat, tubby ass and read me in. You should do a TED talk. You could title it, “Tex Knows Texts Best,” wherein you describe how you were able to nail down with pinpoint accuracy exactly everything you need to know about me before you made your sweet strategic dance moves, you dig me, Dawg? Woof! Tactical woof.

No wonder you have this massive inferiority complex. The only times when you can get paid to talk to anyone actually cool is when you've got some specious, trumped-up reason to claim that Kuczi is tangential to someone's billable hours. What a nice f****** racket you got going on there, Magnum P.-Oui.

At least until you go home, and it's all just you, and the bottle, and your mom, feeling like the walls are closing in with no one to talk to who would understand. No one who could understand. Or else you have to kill them. Or set them up for extortion, counterterrorism, revenge, coercive labor in an ongoing criminal apparatus, and a blind date with one of the many eligible candidates that make up the current roster of Mrs Paul's brood. Seems like there's a lot of turnover in that organization, and I bet I know why:

The reason is you.

I speak to K_Dubb in an ancient Navajo native American dialect that vaguely correlates with Mandarin and archaic Chinese. Also, that shit used to really piss off Rosebud.

🌹Oh, my sweet seductive Empress Rosebud.🌹

You should try sexting in archaic Chinese! Fucking workout, Boi!

I'm in an Eskimo igloo. Get a clue.

You seem desperate lately, Jack. What's the deal? You're one of those guys that can't navigate life without a woman whipping you along, huh? Poor thing..

How's the trial going?

How's life?

Have you had the chance to represent yourself yet legally? 🤭..

Well..

-Bored now-

[Jackstar]

You seem desperate lately, Jack. What's the deal?

Serpentine! Serpentine, serpentine!! What is noise to the algorithm has meaning to the sky. Spirits, that is. Old Gods. Top men. Top Guild men. Bottom feeding fishmongers wearing SCUBA gear with the gills from The Creature From The Black Lagoon laser-etched on the side with a new improved hammer and sickle—now with New! New! nanoamenia!!!

You're one of those guys that can't navigate life without a woman whipping you along, huh? Poor thing..

Let me explain: when I go get medical attention, be it mental or physical or otherwise, questions will be asked.

The answers to these questions will be extraordinarily impactful on the lives of myself and the lives of others, much more so than one might usually dare to suspect.

Also, that shit used to really piss off Rosebud.

I need to make this clear to you: it is not for myself that I am saddened to be banished to Conventry, but instead it Is that the only sound that drowns out the shattering of my heart, is the cracking that there is for thee.

🌹Oh, my sweet seductive Empress Rosebud.🌹

... who? Get a real escort, Pimpstar.

You should try sexting in archaic Chinese! Fucking workout, Boi!

... why? I'm not functionally illiterate or under a gag order or an obsessive-compulsive sex addict with a long and growing increasingly obvious trail of evidence pointing to the existence of a serious impulse control problem, Thugbunny.

I'm in an Eskimo igloo. Get a clue.

... where? I missed 17:00 free clue giveaway hour because I didn't want to ruin my birthday by assuming that your plan was to make me jealous again. Come on man. This is Lucy with the football in Sevastopol all over again.

How's the trial going?

Which one?

How's life?

Tedious. You truly are the only glitter in the darkness that is my world—& I would trade all of these Nobel Prizes I'm gonna get, for just 5 more minutes alone with you. You have no idea what you don't know, you have no idea what you're missing out on, and if you did... when you came back to consciousness after fainting dead away, I'm sure that you would agree with me after knowing all the facts: I totally deserved all of this, and you did too. You may be right, I may be f****** crazy, but I am not mentally ill.

And, I'm a Paladin-Sourceror, and you're a plumber. Let that sink in. I'll put my mid-life crisis up against yours, any day of the week. /flex

Have you had the chance to represent yourself yet legally? 🤭

Baby, there is no chance—I am the certitude.

Well..

-Bored now-

You don't know what bored is until you've out-waited a crack team of adjutant undercover accountants long enough to watch them become grandmothers. I'm really happy that I was clever enough to realize that I was going to have to demonstrate the fact that I wasn't doing any money laundering rather than just crossing my arms and looking innocent. But I didn't have to take The Fifth like a big strong independent man would have to. These goddam alligators and crocodiles wearing invisible calculator suits would have torn me apart, had I been involved in any kind of malfeasance, or guilty thereof the same.

These revenooers do not fuck around. If I were taking money for this, they would have tagged and bagged me and had me in Diego Garcia before I could have said, “I want my brain taken out.” To be quite honest, I've learned a lot through these experiences in the last couple years, and thankfully something I didn't have to learn already was that crime doesn't pay.

Clearly, it doesn't. Not like open, bald-faced lying through your teeth does. Or used to. Tee-hee!! Look, I'm sorry you all fucked yourselves up somehow. (I had other ideas for Christmas, and I guess all of all y'all had other ideas for me all together without bothering to actually check your basic assumptions with me for the entire rest of the year before that. More like decade. Great job, Alexandra.) I don't know who all of you are, nor do I understand the bond that ties you all together aside from a shared loathing and resentfulness towards my superior (HUNG/ARYAN) genome, nor do I feel resentful or saddened that I wasn't involved in all of the shenanigans at an executive level, because I told you all the truth, and truly, can it be said to be my fault that you didn't really believe me? It's not against the law for you to lie to me, it simply carries special consequences. Now, You Know (TM)(R).

Y'all come back real soon now, y’hear? Now, go on, get along with yourself— go on, git. Yeah, I see that some of you are still walking funny... some of you are lucky to still be walking at all! That don't matter none, t’wert’n’t all that long ago, all some of you knew about walkin’ was Slytherin. I'm sorry this bloated piñata isn't giving up the candy for you any faster, but maybe if you tried beating me with a different stick than the one you were Fed up with.

Though, good news everyone! I'm putting the finishing touches on a final edit to my smashing second volume of my epic magnum opus release, which a s an added bonus, comes with a complimentary pair of shoes, which are available here for pickup anytime anyone is comfortable growing a pair.

Come get some. {ilu}

[Jackstar]

I speak to K_Dubb

I bet you have Linda Tripp, E.F. Hutton and G. Gordon Liddy listening too. Zut alors!