i.tink.i.saw.a.putty.cat
Yo. Dopelord. Quaaludes. Let's go.
Pronto, Short Round. MAKE IT HAPPEN.
Alright, fine.
I confess. I never actually imagined or expected that you would actually deliver me any. Ergo: all those hax, all that hat, and absolutely no cattle. Sad!
QUOT ERAT DEMONSTRATUM.
Bonus, conclusive proof available now: bottle of Tramadol left here. Untouched. Like most recreational opioid use and almost any smuggling/trafficking operation not duly Authorized... I am simply not interested in stepping across that particular line. So the joke stops there for me, although I considered taking it next level and asking for your physical address, so I could mail you a couple of Trammies. lol. "Trammies." That's a good one.
You don't need supply from me, lol, the notion is ludicrous. I bring it up to make note of the fact that, well, would you have needed me to establish some kind of bona fides for street cred, I guess I could have. But of course you never asked. All you have ever wanted out of me... has
been (
INFORM)
(NATION)
Classy. And then, in return, what have you offered? Well, nothing at all. There hasn't even been an even exchange of notions and ideas. I talk, you listen, I question, you evade, I query, you ignore me and call me names. Oooh, direct nerve strike: detected.
Sorry mang. It is... oh, right. You don't like that one, sorry twerp. Moving on. (Just stop thinking about it.) I mention this because I'm pretty sure I've figured out how to stop accidentally annoying you, which doesn't mean I will stop being annoying, but should mean that I will end up doing so completely inadvertently, and be more aware of the subtle social cues that indicate that soon enough to change my behavior before you get triggered into a fight-or-flight response. I honestly didn't ever notice that shit happening before, mostly because, even though I have hung around and been down and out with a pretty rough crowd throughout my life... I never really bothered to ask too many questions until I found myself getting game run on me, over and over, by people who thought they had known me for years but never really did know me, nor thought it necessary to take the time required to do so... before starting to run active game on me.
(I'm pretty immune to that kind of thing, but it does take no small amount of focused attention to teach a bull to tapdance--and one generally starts by teaching the bull to put on the shoes first. But I go the extra distance to ensure authenticity: I walk the bull down to a cobbler and have them teach me to put the taps on the shoes manually, just so the bull can watch me learn to swing a hammer, just so the bull will know I mean business if it should come to that.)
The headline here is "Hi, I'm a hard target, and I would prefer not to defend myself, because I really get off on it," beacuse for one thing, I am a terrible haggler. I get taken advantage of by trained hostage negotiators all the time. Because they run out of patience and believe that openly lying to me is worth the special karmic hit to their destiny. Hell, maybe it is, I don't know the inner workings of that world, nor do I wish to. It's not for me to judge, and the Special Consequences are not something granted by The Divine to grant me Holy Vengeance, usually.
In all cases that I have experienced, it is far preferable to leave matters of judgement and punishment up to The Divine. God has a wicked sense of humour. For example, never in a million years would I have deliberately set up someone I've known... well, never did, really, but after 25+ years of at least baseline tepid friendship, arranging to leave them abandoned in the snow with their luggage and then claiming to have nothing to do with it is just something i wouldn't do.
But I probably wouldn't openly laugh about it, unless, like, it was really funny. Or really ironic, don't you think? Because honestly, some people carry grudges like Elway carried the Broncos, and Hell truly hath no fury like a woman scorned. (Or worse: one who believes herself to be. RUN.)
I've seen enough people get that I didn't expect to get their comeuppance, right before my eyes, in grand and glorious fashion, more than once. Once is enough when it comes to seeing Divine Judgement get handed down, I can assure you. Similarly, once would have been enough for me to ask for a couple of 'Ludes.
So of course I had to bring it up over and over again... how could it become a cliche otherwise? Similarly, Azzerae: I don't think it's unlawful for you to relapse. It's your health and well-being, after all. It's your choice. It's your life. Who am I to impose punishment upon you?
Other than someone hoping there is popcorn available when the shitstorm comes down and that I can get a good view from my comfy seat, no one special at all, really. There's lots of Paladins running around these days, I just happen to be the most verbose.
Do you think I might be verb-polar? Let me know in your Hello Kitty diary while you mumble into your Fisher-Price Toddler-Tape Recorder... or is it made by Seiko? Texas Instruments, perhaps? No wait, I know: TOYOTA! No? Mitsubishi then. Come on. Spill it, Braveheart: who is your IT guy's daddy, and what does he do?
Let's talk about your upcoming stint in rehab, Junky.
Moving on. Let's just forget about all my queries above. Pretend I retracted them. Their answers, they are not really any of my business,
n'est-ce pas? You don't have to answer to me. You are not beholden to me, nor I to you, which is why when I am asked questions by yourself and others, I politely decline to disclose that, and then when you all throw a collective temper tantrum, I quietly seethe with inner fury and try to relax. Or at least I do now. As I have at least found some answers to some puzzling circumstances.
For example: my two DUI convictions on my record, both occurring before the age of 21. That seems a bit unusual, doesn't it? Now, I don't know what my background check would show, or my dossier has in it, nor how think my RED file is, nor if I even have one. Come on. Get real. It's not really read, like ever, is it? What absolute poppycock. They should throw all that metadata right in the shitter, because it is sure to be entirely worthless.
* Jackstar puts a finger to forehead and squints.
I am getting a vision... you're not convinced I deliberately arranged my entire life from a young age so I could have a paper trail of perfect depth and complexity so as to make my actual nature utterly inconceivable to be something that could truly exist, I mean, who would do such a thing?
(*huge list of books written by Jackstar's favorite authors has been redacted from this post so as to not scare any caspers. Jackstar cares.*)
Go ahead: laugh it up, Fuzzballs. Such an absurd notion, "The Man Who Sheep-Dipped Himself." I think I'm just a myth. I don't think I even need rehab. Nevertheless, I planned for every possible desirable outcome from a very early point, and it has paid off in spades. Sounds like I'm just another dork in denial when I fruitlessly describe how it all goes my way, and yet: now that there's hours and hours of surveillance watching me be
totestotally non-abusive... it's kinda hard to keep harping on those strings, right? "Jack's on drugs! Jackstar is a junkie! Jackstar IVs meeeeeeeeeeeth!" Oh, really. Massive dynamic rolleyes. So droll. I watched the astroturfing happen all around me, like Rip Van Winkle sleeping with one eye open behind Bono's mirrored sunglasses, and I honestly thought, "is this a fire drill to mislead Russian trawlers, or a ploy to distract the heathen Chinee? These cutouts are obviously cardboard, and cheap rag-content and sloppy acid-washing to boot." Was I supposed to notice, complain, or just plain die laughing? IDGAF: I do not do what I am supposed to do and I very rarely even notice the expectation.
You all might have noticed that I don't respond well to suggestions that are expressed in a rude fashion. And I don't respond to commands at all. That is because I am not part of your little jug-'n'washtub band, yo. No jurisdiction. No authority. No zazz. I acknowledge all of all y'all voluntarily, and most of you have, over the years, begun to lose the fine edge of an appearance to be tolerant to that kind of thing.
I will be honest: had I been invited to the actual birthday party, I would have in fact attended... but I was not. I didn't even know there was gonna be lasagna. I didn't know there was gonna be dinner. At that point, I would have been thinking... "this chick still eats? Prove it." However it would seem clear to me now that your Collective thought that you all wore pants in the family, and thought mocking me for "a skirt" would really sting. (Is it code? Tell me it's code. Gotta be. As I've never worn a kilt in order to disguise my appearance or sex, and cannot imagine why I would ever bother--though I can see how flipping teams on the fly would be a handy skill for someone engaging in legerdemain to have on hand. Of course, that is merely speculation.) Nope, in neither a sense of fashion nor disguise, I have never thought to be skirting those kinds of rules.
I am a double Taurus triple Earth sign with my Moon in Gemini. I trample through your landscape with my head in the clouds and I have never in my life seen so many people so surprised to find that any charging bull would not hunt on command. Yet it never occurred to me that any of you would not know exactly what I was all about with just a brief look, or that conversations with me would end up being more confusing the issues, not less.
Ever since SARS-CoV2 struck, I have been operating at a very high level, and ever since I found out that COVert IDentification was a key element of the biowarfare event, I've been astonished, just shocked, I tell you, to find out just how many people I've known from my past, both acquaintance and bestie alike, had been involved in, shall we say, "the discreet service industry."
Honestly. I had no idea. Looks pretty damn weird from a topdata/metadown perspective, huh? I would love to see that kind of thing, but as I am too cheap to buy background checks on myself and too lazy to get up to anything no-good for very long, and no one has been interested in shoveling confidential data at me, even my own... it was only recenty that I found out just how quirky and dorky my Mr. Magoo act must have seemed to paranoid, drug-fueled, insecure, neurotic, whiney hippocritical bigots. Damn. I had no notion of my gambit paying off so handsomely when I started self-scripting my own behaviors. Around the age of 9.
I had nothing better to do than allow people to mislead themselves, given that no one really bothered to talk to me anyway. I figured that out fast in life. I was routinely ignored, and if ever anyone wanted my attention, it invariably turned out to be due to some self-serving agenda of their own. Most attention I received from others was extremely negative. And if it started out positive, it didn't stay that way for long. I simply had no interest in playing along, frankly. "Don't you want to get good grades?" I stared back incredulously at the first teacher who asked me that. "What, in this economy?" No, really, I was the guy who almost said that kind of thing. With eye contact, too. Why not? Were these teachers supposed to be so much better than me?
Et tu, Bellgab brutes? I answer your questions, Y U NO ANSWER JACKSTAR??? Well... I think we can say that we all know that now. It's because you're gooder than me, you're smarter than me, and, gosh darn it, people like all of you, collectively, a lot more combined than anyone has ever liked me, until only fairly recently. I think a lot of people bunched me in with You People, and wow, was that ever a mis-categorization. Because YOU are all TEAMED.
I am not, and never was. The multiple Graveshaw Aisle & Black Andecker Star Prick Star teams you all self-assemble yourselves into at the drop of a hat, see, I never grew up with that experience. No siblings. No intimacy from my parents, nor anyone else, ever. Truly a black sheep, though it's not about color. It does seem to be about lineage, though. Since I am a European by blood and in exile, and process of natural selection has seemed to have led us all to this: all the normies have fled my area and demesne, leaving only the bravest behind to face me down, the old fashioned way, the way of Kings: years of gaslighting and backroom dealings and supersecret handshakes underneath a thin veneer of an alligator's smile and the copious spilling of crocodile tears.
No one gives up the truth easily to me. People generally figure out I am intelligent pretty fast upon meeting me. Something about my aura? No, it's because I'm honest. And if I notice someone getting uncomfortable, I kinda notice, and I have learned that it is probably one of two very particular things: they think I'm only interested in them to strip them of their secrets or their clothes, both of which are usually well within my capabilities to perform in series or in parallel, although I didn't really notice that natural talent until quite a lot of time had passed... and I had my nose's capacity to process oxygen addressed.
I still need a third surgery. I was planning on having that done long, long before now. Instead, I found myself without a helpful mate or partner at all, shortly after... well, I guess I'll just say that they didn't find me all that helpful either, and leave it at that for now. (I was only keen on ~4-5 out of 17, and I guess none of them noticed, I had a plan for each and every all of us.)
Now, stay with me here, stay-stay with me: once The Belliner Elitegab.ai Aye-Circle-Aye here began to routinely communicate with me using multi-plexed channels, thus allowing a whole peck of pickled peppers picked up per Peter "Le Prick" Pepperridge Pharmabig I.C.U. Farben-fargenhammer, you all thought you were in control of the situation with Jackstar, n'est-ce pas? Don't bother denying it. I remember it like it was yesterday. I wanted someone to interface with you here, I found a honeypot on Facebook that could do so, and not knowing anything about how such things are typically done, I just played it straight and actually was ignorant about how such things are done. Consequently I did not behave as anyone expected once the transition from "Forum friend" to "I have your phone number and am fiending" occurred.
I had been plotting since I got here. Obviously so had you all, but as a collective and towards a whole audience, but I schemed as a commando would and did not have any problems scrapping any plans and reformulating a new approach. No diva drama here. Meanwhile, you shady fucks LIVE on drama. Okay, good for you. Did you ever watch Entourage? Oh, right. They probably made that show about you all, lol. Did Ari ever get punched out by Eric? I can't remember. Your basic Lucas. So honest. So innocent. So naive. So feisty. Ugh just ugh. I used to watch that show? Or television at all? Ye gods. I came from twerpdom, that's how I know it now on you lot.
You know what? Forget Bette Davis' eyes. I think, if I were to ever have had the opportunity, I would have well before now, given you a full foreman's forearm overhanded slapdown, right across that fresh mouth of... "yours?" Well, not now. I'm past processing the past. I've moved on to a more advanced paradigm. See, there's a whole fuckin' gaggle of you. I don't know which one of you I would target, thought I am sure it is not all of them. YOU are ALL Spartacus, Bellgab. Almost any one of you can be replaced by Agent Smith at any time that suits you, whereas I myself, am a mere mortal, at least in forum terms.
That was so many years ago, blink forward to now: Azzerae is Neo, and I am
gigantopithecus... Evolved. Like in the last season of
The Six Million Dollar Man, suddenly Steve Austin is buddies with Bigfoot. Say whaa?? Yeah, we know it makes perfect sense, Bellgab: and none of you are "normal" at all, and we all know it.
Azzerae, I am as apologetic as I am remorseful: you probably don't like having your shit spread out on Front St. either, huh? Well, lucky for you, I'm an even worse guesser than I am a lover. None of my statements are accurate. I don't know what I'm talking about. There aren't multiple people running an animatronic Azzera via a system of waldoes through the series of tubes that comprise the Internet, right?
Yeah, it's not that, it's just: "You're a schizo." Fine, have it your way, whatever way you wanna describe the process. (It's waldoes.) Well some of your personalities clash with my one (1) Titan personage, and as I have never been formally trained, nor really gave a damn as to why I would ever wish to be, I've certainly made some complicated situations more complicated than they had to be, that's for damn sure.
Oops. As you know: fuck with the bull, and get the horns. Beep-beep. Look, I'm a roadrunner now, and you, look at you: you've got Coyote Arm. (Had.) Now, had I known that things were as they were, I would have been able to skip over a lot of these faux pas and the Special Consequences thereof. For I had known ahead of time the reputation of this place and others like it. Having little to nothing better to do with my life--because reasons--I thought to myself nearly instantly upon first casing the joint, that this would be a marvelous place for a proving ground.
Most importantly to you all here: I think it still is. I didn't want to break the place or anyone in it. However. I would say that it has been a near thing to a fatal catastrophic disaster. Lives have been shattered. Dreams have been rent asunder. Monkeys have been poxxed. Women and children of vulnerable communities have been preyed upon for laughs. Men who sought to white knight for them have simply vanished--and largely, none have ever seemed to notice.
#Officially. I did notice eventually that none of you thought it was very unusual for my own experience to turn to black. I get it now. This is what always happened before to outsiders. There IS a clique, serveral of them here. I always thought so. And now, the clique has squeezed out all other competitors for groupmind attention. Only I remain. (I don't think I even need to be lonely.) I did see that as a likely endgame outcome... I had no other place to go that I liked as much, and I see it clearly now, we are each other's destiny. Some may say, a destiny without 'Ludes is really no destiny at all--and they would be right--however I never considered access to drugs as an important victory condition to my plans.
It was important that it was perceived to be. Along with a few certain
select qualities. Desperately seeking Susan, well, not my favorite name, but would do in a pinch, wait, what, you've already got BOTH (2) Boys Named Sue? Land sakes! I swear Gozer, The Destructor!
It's a small world after all. I don't know how it is done, but it is a model of consciousness that goes like this: people are said to have an angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other, and you creepy degenerate fucks, you've got the whole swarm of Hades' population plugged into you like the cloud into The Borg Queen. Euphemistically? Could be actual silicon tubing for all I can fucking tell. I can't tell. I didn't come here to uncover all your secrets, Bellgab, I came here to uncover mine. And, I have.
YOU really are a Collective. There's definitely one of you in, or was in (obviously casting lists can change quickly), your damned, motley motel-parking-lot that is a reach smarmy shit-talkin' douchebag. I think by this point... I am probably over it. It must be at least as awkward for you, all of youse, to have 1/6 of a hypothetical Double Triumverate to have to deal with some renegade psychotronically overpowered boor, like waking up one morning to find that one of your roommates shat the couch while boofing vodka-soaked tampons.
That can happen. Similarly, and I'm gonna continue to not name names... but some of your *ahem* "personalities" are more civilized than others. I think you know what I mean. Now, I don't have to guess that you would prefer that I not get to descriptive as I delve into this topic, and you don't have to guess that I am not going to be extorting you or threatening blackmail in exchange for a quid pro quo promise to "look the other way."
That's because I'm not any kind of Enforcement Authority whatsoever. No writing of reports. No filing of grievances. No under-the-breath muttering of any "curses, foiled again, I'll get you, my pretty, and you damn dirty sidekick ape too," not at any of that. Not even any promise that "eyes on you, watch out Buddy," accompanied by a forking finger gesture.
From this common ground we may yet build. However, I am a strategic asset resource now. I'm not a strip mine. I'm not even a stripper's toy.
And I can strip your illusions, all your delusions bare, like a bear in a harsh moment. So I will not harp on this any very much longer.
A MEETING. It's gonna happen. You want it to happen. It has to happen. See you around.
