The microphone is still in the box, and the Guardians of (BLANK) have been respected. Zugzwang.
Schroedinger never had it so good. I can be quantumly determinate for as long as I keep being respectful and he keeps being sporadically possessed by controlling Commander spirits that may or may not have his best interests in mind... but definitely like me more than him.
Otherwise, I'd be the one in misery, desperately hope to make contact, but no, that's coming from the other direction. And, even better: no more thugs. I think they rounded up the last of Her Nibs' Mindslaves, or, alternately, it's been conclusively determined that throwing resources at me is a waste of resources.
"Emergency." :massive rolleyes: hang on, I gotta go make sure the wagons are circling. Work work work, moles and trolls, yawn.
It's an "emergency!" I can still remember the explusions of glee on the face of the Zoom participants. Oh, they thought it was going to be such a delight for all concerned... except Me.
I'm having a great time, in case no one could tell. I still can't believe they did it this way, but this is how Evil functions. Mindlessly, ceaselessly, and baselessly.
And, I prepared for all that. I did not, however, prepare for Angie and David to have a paranormal ambush stream, so I didn't publish my content, and I haven't gotten all mine back up, and I can't plug in my laptop, so... well, let's just say I am glad that I am not
content dependent in order to maintain my good mood.
I am, however, respiration dependent, so, I gotta watch it, so I don't laugh myself to death. As all of whatever everyone is seeing--no matter their angle of perspective--is nothing akin to the close and final picture, which at this point, it would seem only I possess.
And I guess upwards of four other individuals, each members of their own Triumverate aligned--at least in principle--with mine, I guess they might know too, but none of them seem willing to engage in dialogue.
I can see why. I am annoying these days, huh? I mean, I see it. I really do. I have become Know-It-All-Y'All,Y'All. Look on my mighty research corpus and despair.
Because I don't have to say shit, I don't have an iota of fear left... and I have neatly evaded any concerns for paying hefty legal bills -or- going to prison. Now, how did I manage this? Well, frankly, I don't know.
It never occurred to me to have a reason to protect myself from a noxiously toxic time-travelling corrupt Federal agent carrying a wicked grudge, but that was just because I figured I could easily deal with that circumstance, and that wasn't too likely anyway. Little did I know, Leon is, like, the favorite wish-fulfillment fantasy amongst corrupt Federal agents that used to be equipped with time travelling devices and permits, but that's really just because I don't ever travel in the sex-o-phile crowd, and so simply never heard about those kinds of revenge fantasies.
Like, Oldboy. You know that one? I like it for that long tracking shot. I don't like it because it's a revenge film involving gaslighting and incest. Don't care about that. Don't care about that at all. Don't care about what happened to my sister. Don't care about what happened to my prepuce. I barely care about what happened to my first four pets, let alone the last one.
Now, I just care about that hammer, and wonder how Josh Brolin felt when he learned that, no, no, he wasn't going to be allowed to believe that he pulled it off. Two takes for him, I don't care how much of Barbra Stresiand's box he munched. He's always gonna be Josh "Two-Takes" Brolin.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Jackstar, you have way too much fuckin' free time." Yeah, well, maybe there is a garage I could organize, or something. But I guess not.
Okay, perfect. I told myself I'd call 42 minutes ago, then didn't, then shat out all this drivel and left a polite, succinct voicemail. Is that harrassing? Oh no.
Is it stalking? Oh, no. How could it be? I have no idea where he is, how to find him, or means to begin that process--and the fact that I have a strong hunch that I could find the right place to go next to the right Seven-Eleven and be there in less than half-an-hour to re-enact the climatic scene in Back To The Future... I actually wouldn't even become even close to being bothered.
So... wishes granted all around. Now, that was important to someone. How did that work out? I'd love to know. See, look, I'm complying. I'm in compliance. How did everything... you know, turn out?
The lack of news updates is encouraging, but for this kind of steaming hot satisfaction, I really could use a snappy or two. That being said, I would prefer that my library not be set alight out of some kind of sense of twisted revenge.
Do I even have a library anymore? I don't know. I haven't anyone reliable who isn't being represented by an attorney who has advised them not talk to me... mostly. Naturally, this has had a deeply chilling effect on several potential outcomes involving... "wtf I need an extension cord. But wait... there's an emergency. For another two months. And then, someone might be 'ready.' Hey, wait a minute... they really are just hoping I'll kill myself out of grief, huh? That's funny."
MAHALO. MAHALO. MUH {gerund:sensitive_body_part}
Now, I think I can take my answer off the air. Did I miss anything? Let me know in the comments on some webpage I'll never open, because it's really all I can do every day, reading through all the email I received a year ago and then never bothered to read--because I know how this teck works.
That's why I didn't use it. I prefer being a person of warm good humor and personal good cheer. Also, I think it's funny when people are so enraged that they can't think of anything to say besides threats of violence against an acknowledged pacifist in public on record. I think it's -hilarious.-
Alright, what am I replying to? I much prefer it when lives don't hang in the balance, and also, I have no idea why I am even answering anyone's questions here at all. I'll have to think about that when I do my daily meditation.
Over a bloody Mary. You know how pissed off some people are that I am not a compulsive consumer of alcohol? Well, everyone who storyboarded out a wargame scenario that imagined I would be somehow susceptible to that kind of thing... I mean it's not like I had the foresight to deliberately paint a false notion of reality as part of some cunning stunt for future exploitation, right?
Well, yeah, anyway: someone is pissed and sick. That's too bad. I am okay; thanks for asking.
I don't even know who I am replying to, at this point. What difference does it make? Oh, well, I'm not replying to "That Woman," but... I mean, she's long gone from here, of course. She couldn't possibly be around and intentionally allowing herself to be used as bait. No, that must be just strictly happenstance.
tl;dr I can write whatever I want again without undue fear of reprisals. Do you know how long it took me to re-establish that relatively normally functioning appreciation of my first amendment rights under The Constitution? Well, about 27 months.
And, I voted Biden and abstained from Trump. You know, if we had both voted Trump, they could have just straight up had us sputched. But, because of certain Arcane rules... it had to be done the way it was. It had to be done, and it had to be done real
tasty.
And, it has. Okay, I'm done here, right? I can go listen to Angie, right? Do I have to worry about "Pandavision"? Should I not ask questions about that? Oh, wait... never mind, I can't ask for that kind of information.
It might be... Contact. Oh noes. And, as God as my witness... I won't make that mistake ever again. (I couldn't give a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut to hurry this three-ring carnival circus sideshow to speed itself up AT ALL.) And in order to justify the expense of a third arrest, another trial date scheduled, more jail custodians getting a good look at what a man in custody can do without even trying at all... you know, I think they'd all like to just forget all about it.
Hey. Me too. Too bad no one gets to. Three months, one pair of boots. Really? Really. What fascinating legal advice someone has given you, Grandma. Are you under duress, is this part of a networked hyperquantumdimensional reality matrix, or are you up to something actually clever at this point? I'm asking here.
Take your time answering. Don't worry, I'm not kidding about the clairaudience, as soon as your lardbag shitass stupid fucking face is gonna surrender and apologize, you can go right on ahead and send me a message saying so. I don't have to pretend to be stupid or to be hating or carrying a grudge. Oh no.
I don't need a restraining order. I just need to be asked politely. On the other hand... I don't know what
ANY of you need. But I know... you did ask for money.
And that has made, really, quite a lot of difference. I remember living that way too. That was back before Shaka. That was before the walls fell.
That was before I learned the value of putting the hashtag before the vague-ly Hawai'ian greeting. How do I spell that? Well, whatever, I'm not that kind of Clergy. I don't care about the kingdom of Hawai'i.
I do care that some might believe myself at all discontent at how recent events have unfolded. For example, I didn't trade That Woman.
I sacrificed a Pawn to make a Queen. The fact that I didn't know that Queens are often disguised as Pawns in some cultures is of absolutely no concern of mine whatsoever anymore. And do you know why?
Because... I lied to The Prosecutor, and I don't feel bad about it at all. Typically, dishonesty is a terrible policy when conducting diplomatic negotiations. However, the truth is, I told the truth: I would never evict anyone, I could never, and in this circumstance, I really, really wouldn't.
I could change my mind any minute though. I don't think I will. But I -might.- But I will not change my mind about hiring a lawyer.
Nine grand. NINE GRAND. He actually almost had it, too. I was actually considering it. Since then: plans have changed.
I mean, there's just so many completely frivolous activities there is nothing at all stopping me from blowing NINE GRAND on. And, get this: I can still get food stamps. I haven't done that yet--I don't want to rub things in too much--but yeah, I could do that, all over again.
Except now I have a house built on an ancient Indian burial ground, instead of one with a cracked foundation. It's quite the upgrade. The fact that I cannot go there right now... well, eh. Whatever. Don't
real losers come around there now?
Oh, wait. I'm not really asking. I am being facetious in order to make a point. Because I don't actually care to find out early wtaf. This glacial pace is working out for me. How about any of you?
Tell you what, save your answer for your prayers to your Maker and your God while you cry yourself to sleep tonight, or whatever you do, because, as I said before:
totes insulated.I'm also carrying around a great number of
actual Christmas presents. In
March.
Mahalo. Jesus, what thread is this? Let me check.
Oh, right. Hi Angie! I'll catch up to you shortly. Let me go check on RubiniGab.com first.
More like "retardgab.com" amirite? Yeah, actually, I'm not right. That's a trick question. There's nothing retarded about Rubini.
This is
only Day_Four. Taste the upcoming rainbow, O Ye Precognitives. The damn dirty apes really did it. They really blew it all up.
p.s.: Got a terse, cryptic email from one of The Slanderettes. Subject line: "good bye" with some youtube song as the only body, and the same goddam email sig I've seen for years. Would I even care? No, but I've seen this kind of thing before. It means she is probably suicidal and will end up seeing me again in some other dimensional reality. Or, someone laughed at her. Or, well, I don't know... I don't care. Slanderette #2 sure use to think it was important, though.
p.p.s.: I actually don't know what the emergency is and while I did state outright on the record "I respect the order" I forgot to mention that I also respect the right and the duty of each and every citizen to disobey unjust laws. So... wait, what law did I break?
p.p.p.s.: I hope they leave that goddam order up for a thousand years. Contact? With who? Where? Is it even real? Look, tell you what... when I feel like talking to her, I'll tell The Sheriff to let her talk to me. Until then, keep writing letters. How about setting up a surplus of postcards? Someone could put hashtags on them. We love hashtags.
p.p.p.p.s.: "FU FU FU ROT FU" was not the kindest thing I ever heard, but as famous last words go, well, it's never going to catch on as long as your sister-scions don't tell you what you should be doing... and, clearly, they aren't.
p.p.p.p.p.s.: (insert disclaimer here) yeah, I'll find it later, and then, maybe or maybe not remember to add it to this post in time. Now, while this may indicate a lack of willingness to be polite, respectful, and/or professional, it's actually an attempt to use metaphor, simile, and mentally projecting thoughts of whiskey in order to CONVEY the message subtext adequately, which is important, because it's pretty high-concept. Are you all ready? Here goes:
There's a ghost inside me, who want's to say, "I'm sorry." But, I am not "sorry," I'm a Sourceror. There's a difference. And, wow, did we ever accidentally piss some people off with our antics. Say it with me, Obsessive Moron:
accident. Now, I know in my case, I can sell it, because I sure never meant for this to all happen this way. Now... who did mean things?
Merry Christmas. Happy Valentine's Day. Can't we all just get along? Look, I know you're sad that the only reason I am happy is that everyone knows that you're all way, way more embarrassed than I am... believe me, I wish I had other reasons. However, not going to prison or a funeral is awesome for me.
And, personally... I think everyone involved is likely to be way, way more likely to a) feel bad and b) never do it again if this is as far as the group collective punishment goes. I mean, that's my theory. However, there are other people involved, and they seem to think they have... dibs. Rights. A reason to seek retributive justice through vigilante justice.
Sound like anyone you know? Yeah, seriously. Think on that, because, I think we're done here. There's another plateau to converse at here, but there trouble is, if I actually create legitimate attempts at conflict resolution... well, that could be argued to be an "attempt to contact." Not sure there's any shysters left that would be willing to tangle with Ol' Jackstar but honestly--I really can't afford to take the chance.
I'm in a vulnerable position here. If I can't keep my hands off of all these elderly, easy to abuse disabled adults, or, keep my eyes off these maybe-maybe-not 19 year old breedstock stragglers--they're all over the place, seriously--I might end up causing some -real- troubles for myself. I mean, I am out on bond, I gotta be extra-cautious.
It would be terrible if I gave anyone the wrong impression. N'est-ce pas? Oh, and, speaking of which: I'm not interviewing anyone on my podcast. You know why? It wouldn't be fair to any of my pimps.
So, go ask Alice when she's pimping at all. It shouldn't be much longer at this rate. TIE,II? Yep.
