I'll be going live tonight on Podbean @ 10 pm Central Time with Azzerae and Grapefruit.
No contact Shaw. Will not attend live--believe me, let it settle in: the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle is powerful, real, and if it ain't Prime and/or Alpha, it's Elle Bee/LB\Lord British The Pretender. (Good get in any case.) And I'm impressed the announcement isn't a mocking, half-falsetto half-barely-legal suckerfish trapgift, "Oh hey, we've been ignoring you and talking shit behind your back FOR FUCKING MONTHS, ACTUAL MULTIPLE FORTNIGHTS, YOU DOUCHEBAG, WANNA COME? SINCE I AM ASKING YOU EXACTLY 5 MINUTES AFTER YOU JUST SAID,"Well, it was nice to spend the day with you Sweetie, good talks from breakfast to supper, time for bed, hey where's my toothbrush? Can you hand it to me the next time you suck someone's dick? No, hahha, not my dick, lol, you playin'--you know that -simply isn't done-, Dame Lady,"--which, obviously, is a fuckin' kickass invitation, especially when the true facts of the attendance plans aren't actually revealed.
Like, "Me and Azz doing another bullshit 1:1 semi-scripted A.I. construct-convo", and "Me and Azz doing the same thing with an -actual- woman," is an obvious difference, but now, hey--look at you: you're actually posting a message on a public forum! Are you gonna delete it, like 15 minutes from now? Is it gonna self-destruct? Or are ya gonna have to click the buttons to delete it yourself, pretending to be doing it like a coward, but instead, doing it with the right nuance? Asking for an auditor's records.
There will be nudity.
Fuck her blue. (Leave the blow-by-blow out of the transcript, would you please? Not only will that accelerate the rate at which I will get that document to me--oh, and can you have that emailed to me direct? hahah, just kidding, I know you use SMS for all your important document transmittals, you know, like fan mail, police reports, accountancy reports, TPS reports, sight-unseen-yet-legally-binding real estate negotiations, and slash-fic Fifty Shades reboots starring Mrs. Paul, Ethel Merman, and Ether Mermaid (my favorite fuckin' mer by far fuckin' far)--because I have an actual life, Dude.
I could give a shit that you obviously don't know what is going on in legitimately consensual 3D reality, where I reside. (House so comfy.) Look, it's like this: I'm embarassed that you have been reduced to this. Your handlers are to blame, whomever-the-fuck they be, whether they're guilty of letting you run around unattended, or, whether they should have made sure you didn't roll right off the fuckin' res where the sidewalk ends, or what have you, Man... look, you're a fuckin' mess on this one here.
You fuckin' bailed and vanished MONTHS ago, you been talking to a bunch of mealy-mouthed, lyin' bitch-assed bastard bitch-baby whiney ass cuntfucking cuntblasters -exclusively- ever since (which is fine) and you haven't bothered to take the basic time to take the basic precautions to check in even at all, let alone basically, with ME, JACKSTAR: MESSENGER TO AND FOR AND OF YOUR DREAMS, THAT MESSAGE BEING: "Wake up, time to try to remember you were In_Astral, In_Control; MICHAEL IS GONNA ROW THAT DAMNED HOT DAMN BEAN TO THE DAMN SHORE, BELEIVE IT." Like, what the fuck are you even thinking?
"Jackstar is just some brain-addled attention whore, I know for certain there's no deeper subtext I am missing"? Is that it? Tell you what: you run your mouth and I'll run my business, and when you're done hiding behind the great County of Cowlitz and their whiney bitchey sleepey dick'n'ass lickin' IT IS AN EMERGENCY, NO REALLY, SEE THOSE CIRCLED WAGONS? DAS REAL LYFE YO fresh country fuckin' farm fuckin' bullshit assblasting horseshit black P.R. with New! and Improved! total fucking horseshit, yeah, you fucking cunts need ten fucking months to wall me off -- LITERALLY A DIGITAL WALL, YOU TEXAN STARFUCKING HOSEBAG -- and then instead of, you know, tracking down any actual malfeasance, y'all are just spinning your wheels in the fuckin' MUD, looking to make me look bad, looking to make me waste time hauling dirt and ass up and down the goddam hill and block for NO fuckin' REASON... uhm, yeah. I am sure your Core Audience can hardly wait. Champin' at the bit, ain'tcha? Call Gerardo, maybe you'll get some extra time in order to take another stab at crackin' that fuckin' Al Capone vault, you I.R.S. cockgobbling snob-gobblin' TRAITOR TO YOUR GODBLESSED COUNTRY. (Seriously, how do you even fuckin' live with yourself without succumbing to the what-must-be ever-present soul-panging desire to flush your own damn self down the G-d damn TOILET DRAIN WITH EXTRA DRAINO, every time you shit, right? I fuckin' bet. Just to get a chance to apologize to God before the Holy Throne, because you know full-on, full fuckin' well:
You motherfuckers fucked this whole fucking thing up for no reason other than to chap my ass and share hers around the Inner Clique, For Your Eyes Only, right? How many times did she get timecloned with the tunnel tech? Oh, never mind, I retract the question... obviously, that would be a Clas. integer, and I have no need to know how many times you utter fag captains sinned in the eyesight of God by crossing time border portal streams for the duplication of immortal porpoises with slighty tacky and totesammoral edible candy wardrobes with extra Day of the Week panties... X-tra, now do I? Nah, man. Not really. (Great practice for you though. Practice, practice, suck Carnegie's dick, and practice. God bless you, every one.)
Dibs on any wishbones from any cracked sternums that may perhaps expose themselves. Also, p.s.: I can't risk the fuckin' No Contact situation, but I want you to know: at this point, I probably would still say the same thing to you, whether it were possible at all, or even if you hadn't demonstrated a consistent lack of respect in all your communications with, not just me, but EVERYONE... so, break a fuckin' leg, why don't you? C'mere and let me
push, that's a good lad.
Oh wait, I forgot: "good pussy."
My bad. Break a leg.
