I've spent hours upon hours attempting a normal human conversation with you
Must have been someone else. You do not attempt normal conversation with me at all. You gaslight and seek to deceive and pretend you're not a diagnosed and oddly medicated schizophrenic. No shame in it. No “normal” either. Denial is not going to kill you, Chair Rub, but its a chilling effect that you bring to the table. Hark! Did you see how you just implied through textbook psyop chicanery, that either of us ought to be prioritizing “normal”?
d00D. I live in a haunted church for three (3) years and am regularly attacked by murderous hooligans. There has been no running water for a year and a half. YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO DELIBERATELY COLLUDE WITH OTHERS ON THE INTERNET TO WITHHOLD CRITICALLY IMPORTANT INFORMATION FROM ME ON A BASIS SO ROUTINE, I GUESS YOU HAVE BECOME DESENSITIZED TO HOW THAT IS A FEDERAL CRIME.
, but you're too much of a troll to break character.
Your cognitively null and inexplicably vague excuse you've posted here in maximally desultory prose is even less relevant than any other whinge that comes after the word “but” would be. I do not play a character, Neighbor Of Kaffirs. I simply
have character, and my personality is faceted. Yours is both split and staffed by INTERPOL using hard-duplex wired surveillance and interrogation software. EVERYONE KNOWS THIS. Whatever reason you have for playing coy, trust me on this: I am goddam over it.
We? I didn't know you and Master Trollda were so tight.
I don't know about that person⁷s lit factor. I know I don't need to concern myself with it. (“Please surrender urine!” Strict, not-my-job pass.) I know that I am steadily drinking and smoking and hamming it up in as exaggerated a be fashion as I can muster, as I know that I am under 24/7 sound+video archiving, and I wish to make everyone as wickedly uncomfortable while watching me without permission as possible. (Standards.) I imagine there were those who thought they'd see me engaging in lots of sexual activities. HA! Well, writing is sexy when I do it.
Any time that MT is not Metron is a time to be cherished. I don't know how many people have access to your various åī projEKTZ but I am sure that it was always hoped by all involved that I would forever blow the bell curve on the Turing Test here.
Brace yourself: the instant I loaded the site for the very first time I instantly knew the following:
1) (PROT-Ⓜ️orn) was a lead designer, if not THE lead. I am a legit admirer of their work. The other users with any CompSci skills at all, simply do not compare; and I've seen them all as “MV” in multiple places. I didn't see them at first, not care when I did. Bellgab.com was Blah v8.XX. Of course he couldn't talk about it.
2) The whole thing was developed to be a front-end façade for an ∆ī conversation aggregate system with stealthy anonymizing and backtracing utility for LE, because you are all Fed sp∞›kμhomoghosts, and i do mean: ∆_LI_μ0Ω! None of you want to give up your Real🆔s; all of you expect everyone else to admit to snuggling yellowcake for the Rosenthals to maintain their smack addictions on demand. You Oinkertons have simply
NO IDEA HOW GODDAM OBVIOUS IT IS. You get all snooty when someone neglects or refuses to fall for your little parlor tricks. Like a 16yo denied access to 3rd base by a tightly crossed pair of smartly dressed legs. You actually sniffle and pout. It's absurd. Y'all have some
serious entitlement issues. (Looks good on you though.)
3) As ranking military officer on site, Master Trollda has free reign to operate as command authority sees fit. That is because since at least 2000—¡sh, USMCJ personnel have been investigating the Bell cases, I would imagine that they are still open investigations, and as it is now decades later, I am sure there are those who wonder, like... WTAF? What's with the feet-dragging?
The wheels of Justice grind slowly;
.&AND.YET.THEY.GRIND.TO.DUST.
.👁️🏴☠️⚖️🦜🥝🥝🍆❌⭕❌
4) I’ve been cleared of all suspicions. #Unofficially. Also unofficial: yeah, I'm am anomalous strategic resource, a dual U.S./Galactic Citizen of non-zero reknown, and there's no need to “suspect” that I need to be monitored regularly, I have flat-out made top brass quite nervous with many of my statements. No shame in it.
No jurisdiction over me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No doubt this is not something the military mind is able to accept easily. And yet, here we are. None of this was my idea. God⁷s Jest was well-laid and built-in long in advance of recent events.
I really only wanted to make sure I was gonna impress all the dingbats who wrote me off for not participating in the rat race. Fuck your BMI. Get your own 401(k). Feed your own goddam children—THAT'S WHAT YOUR TEATS ARE FOR, FFS. Save money “for college”? Oh my fucking Christ, just throw me out the back of the sleigh. I'd rather take my chances with The Wolven.
So^^: ¡ dïD. *vv°°f*
Dear `G•`₹∆₱:Ë:f₹üīT⁷∆l_pī–īÅPrīVīrπ: All you had to do was ask. CONSENT.MATTERS. Is it still complicated? IDGAF, because now it's practical and legally necessary. My hands are tied! I do what I am allowed, because I
must.
I am on a mission from God. Hang on. (*Sounds of Jackstar cracking his last beer within 300 yards are heard.*) How's that bagel coming along? Yep,
of course I still want the coffee. Pfft. Chop-chop, pronto, Tonto! Let's goooooo!
Obviously I am in no position to set up a distillery here... YET.
Since I have been The Resident, I have enhanced the value of this property by at least two orders of magnitude — without having to break any laws. IDC about your ill-informed opinions as to my actual activities here. Need-To-Know-Basis, ol’ chap ol’ chum. It really never needed to be any of your goddam business and if EVERY LAST SODDING ONE OF YOU HADN'T BEEN AN OPENLY BALD-FACED LIAR TO ME, y'all would probably be EXACTLY where you are all now, wherever THE FUCK that is, but, I would still have actual dregs and/or iotas of respect for you. (Standards.) My advice would be to not worry. Just wallow in your shame —y'all fucked up, and did it LARGE— and recognize that respect, like the money basically all of you are going to be paying me ON THE WEEKLY as Court-ordered restitution, most likely, is a fungible, transactionally identical unit of currency.
None of you should have anything negative at all in your experience over this. You dimwit troglodytes are fortunate that you will have the opportunity to earn back your street cred so effortlessly, especially compared to some. Bugsy Crackleford, just as an outlier example, is into me to the tune of just over eight and a half kidneys. Organ meat. Harvested the hard way; nasal, anal, or both, would honestly be my preference. Yank that comma-shaped slug out of him from both ends with those hooked chains that Pinhead uses in
Hellraiser. Yank that flesh like it's gonna go through a Coney Island taffy pulling machine, I don't want anyone getting one of his kidneys as a transplant anyway. No, his kidneys are to be used as goddam
stock for
golem broth.
I don't know how fast he can grow another six and one ½ kidneys but he's obviously clever enough to fuck around and find out. Good. Idle hands are The Devil's work. Hey, here⁷s an idea: add a filtration package, to his actual package. I'm sure the 16,000 refugees from Gaza currently bivouacing in his cock⁷s rain shadow can, you know: MOVE ALONG. They're not in control of Island B∞μ and his organ meats. Neither am I, of course. And of course: neither is he. Not really. Not at all.
* Jackstar pauses for emphasis while Azzgab⁷s Upper Echelon Elite pauses for MULTIPLE SPANS OF TIME MEASURED IN YEARS in order to squeeze another blooded needle orgy onto their Conservation Timetable.
And you're so "broke"
I never said I was broke. I said it was time for all who ought to begin recompensing me. I do not know who. I do not know why. I do not know know how. I am nowhere near bankruptcy, Coupon Cutter. I saw all of this coming when I was FOURTEEN, and planned accordingly. What? I am a strategic mastermind raised by military conscript veterans. You draw cartoons. We are exactly the same; I am simply good at being that.
You imagine that I make clandestine shadow money hand over fist, tax-free and invisible to any audit. You imagine that because that's what you would do with this setup. Indeed, this location is ideal for that kind of thing.
And yet I have not. Over three (3) years I've been here, Isolated from everyone but mil.spec.clan.DOE.botZ. I don't get to associate with humans. Oh no. I've been under a forensics microscope you can't even goddam imagine. (It really helps when you are wildly speculative and flagrantly insulting together. Do you think that's because you're bipolar, or just a mean-spirited bully turned gang-green and mv envy envious of what any literate U.S. Citizen can do? Maybe you should apply for a green card. Or, maybe the hooligans that ransacked my residence FIVE FUCKING TIMES have sold you my father's expired passport and the leather billfold he gave me, I was astonished that the squad commander went that far, but, raging kleptomania is how distress calls are presented by deep cover agents in the field. I honestly do not think he wanted to steal from me.
However, I acted like I just didn't care, and he was a merk, and he had to make it look good for whatever dopemongering fuckheads he was working for. Not just to save face, but so he wouldn't be suspected of being secretly aligned with my hidden agenda. Which he could have been, so far as anyone knew. I think he ended up getting whacked. I give not one single shit. War is hell. He lied to me. I want my property back. No doubt many do. Me first. Get those thumbs out, of the way of ‘muh gavel.
My wealth isn't anyone's in a free-for-all of careless avarice. It was and is:
ẞ∆īT. And! You! All! Took! īT! (Welcome to Amateur Decade.) I don't care that any or all of you think yourselves entitled or successful. I am going to get what belongs to me and all the snide jibes about the opinion of the pezantry as in regards to my work ethic is a conversation in no way. A complete non-starter.
You work hard. I work smart. We are not the same. Also: you are a mendastic, swindling oaf. Do I lie, chest, steal, defame, ride coattails, exploit vulnerable populations, skip out on my duty to society, or dodge responsibility by dumping them on patsies unawares?
Only in your letters to
Penthouse Forum. Come, come, Mister Layered. You no longer have to approach me while muttering, “Sacre Merde.” It's no big deal. I'm simply better equipped at everything in life than you are, as I do not require the necessity of juggling ON THE DAILY, eight or nine non-official cover 🆔s. No shame in it. It's what you do. It's actually a very useful set of skills in many circumstances.
Except in any that involve me. I don't have to confabulate anything. Ever. All I know is the truth, insofar as I know anything to be true, at the time that I am speaking it aloud. And I know that if you and your mewling coterie of thieving battling sex pref reprobative scum hadn't pissed me off, I wouldn't have deliberately set my income level to zero. So there. Who is John Galt? My HERO. (Scoot over, Dagny; that swarthy Latino probably faps to a toy train set on the nightly. No shame in it. CHOO-CHOO!)
Don't rub the lamp, unless you're ready for the genie. You want money. I require my helpmate.
ZUGZWANG.
Not counting denial of spousal benefits (priceless, to be certain) and loss of income earning potential (an attorney will have to figure that out, as I have no idea what your henchfagz impersonating me are paid by your fagin überthug patron/payer; it must be quite a lot since they pulled out every trick in the Spy vs. Spy MAD almanac over the last TWELVE (12) GODDAM YEARS, MINIMUM), not counting anything at all, just guessing really: I estimate my combined real and punitive damages owed to me to be
between 2.7 and 68.5 million $USD (fiat). I do not know how to calculate this kind of thing. I have not retained any counsel, I have not sought legal advice, and that estimate comes by way of Divine intuition gained during contemplative prayer.
It is not an official number. It is an ironic indicator of just how out of touch with reality my enforced isolation has left me. That would, in a “normal” conversation, be a subtle indicator that it is well past time to read me in on what has transpired. What, are you fucking
busy? I don't give a single ripe wet fuck. Do your goddam job. Know your role.
.SURRENDER.TO.GOD.
I know you will not do this and that you have, in fact, quite valid reasons to excuse this lack of candor. We are, after all, more than just friends. We are family. That means that I can ask Il Papa if I can have a contract put out on your life. If The Holy See greenlights, I can have you garrotted at dawn and have you turned into a monkey on Tik Tok by sundown the same day. Although, I think I would choose that you be a ferret. But I would follow The Pope and his Holy Guidance. (Standards.)
What? This is how things are done in the real world, Oinkμ-§p∞kμ, and you goddam know it. You wanna throw down with a WAR CRIME? Holy
fuck, just how high were you then? I retract the question; I don't need you to self-incriminate. I don't have to consistently feed INTERPOL⁷s prosecutors an assembly line of single mothers holding dime bags to keep my immunity shield intact.
I DON'T HAVE a legal immunity shield. I simply... obey the law. Imagine that. Getting high without going outlaw. Bonnie & Clyde are rolling over in their graves. I SIMPLY DO NOT TRIGGER ANY OFFENSE. Huzzah! (Dear DEA: I am not to be trifled with. CHECKMATE, motherfuc—*click*) I am in fact all this without the bag of chips. 🗽🌬️💨💪🏿
I don't need you pronounced guilty. I need you to present as UNDENIABLY UNFATHOMABLY EFFECTIVE. (Affective word.) Is that really going to take another eight goddam weeks? No it fucking isn't. I know The Dragonhead; and he can have you killed. (#Officially. In reality: chained to a radiator in Phuket. I hear you like radiators. Nice. I bet you really tie the room together.)
that you can afford an X subscription for a little blue tick.
I got it to mock people like you, and as well, to see what would be my experience. It's been appalling. Elon Musk ought to be ashamed. I am ruthlessly shadowbanned on the entire Internet and it's like he doesn't even care. QQ
As I am not an investigator, nor am I familiar with the Articles of The Convention of Geneva that apply to HOLDING A MEMBER OF THE CLERGICAL SERVICES UNLAWFULLY IMPRISONED WHILE ILLEGITIMATELY KEPT INCOMMUNICADO (okay, sure, it's Armageddon. However you have exactly zero jurisdiction or authority to keep me on ice while you pick and choose every element of me life like a klepto magpie on acid; and further, it's a little hard for you to argue that you have anything resembling my interests held in any sort of esteem since you SPEND MY FUCKING MONEY WHILE I SIT HERE WITH ENOUGH TIME TO RIGHT LIKE THIS, AND THEN STILL: your arrogant >Klan Dough h∞rs routinely hit ME up for pocket money. Like I'm their fucking daddy? Why can't they go right on sucking their strongest pimp’s strongest StrongdïK? I suppose they had planned on my continued impersonation of a cornucopia, or The Horn of Plenty (I had one, it's an enchantable jewelry pendant; it, like everything else of value that I once owned, is now gone), or some lovesick maroon, desperate for companionship, and thus, willing to engage in commerce for it. Actually: no. No-no, no no no. THEY pay mE! If they don't like it: leave. Well, they did.
They left nothing but rubble in their passage. Woo-wee. Tough crowd. Da fuq? It would seem none of you read the fine print: The Trust is for the benefit of
mE, exclusively: ME. Fortunately for all concerned... having your spooky asses over a barrel and at my beck and bloody call —publicly— for the next fifty fuckin’ years or so, suits me just fine. Tentatively. It'll be up to a gaggle of assorted Judges and likely a goddam platoon of jurors to determine that.
I know my place in the Grand Order of things here. You might do the same, Sub-Creature. HA!
Blow me.
Considering that I can do that for myself as indicated, legally, and with Divine permissions to boot, I don't expect any sympathy from a pair of dope junkies like you two. I'd be happy to have you visit, but — scusi, mille regretie — my residence is an active crime scene with only one place for visitors to poop: “somewhere else.” We'll have to “entheogenically party with lawfully utilized entheogenic compounds,” uh, later. Frankly I don't think either of you can handle so much as a Long Island Ice Tea without triggering an actual
froth as your salivary glands go into Full Pavlov at the mention of anyone at risk of having themselves a good time, Optimus Pillhound.
What? Remember: these are friend prices. In less enlightened times I would have had your heads on pikes and harpy Queens scissoring themselves as they dug through your evisceratum for loose coin, unpopped kernels of grain, and omens of Divine portent. Santeria is really never very distant from a sudden resurgence of popularity where I come from.
You are immortal. I have immanetized The Eschaton. Multiple times. A few times, just cuz I was
that fuckin’
bored. Start writing checks, quasi-proletariat.
You are raking in cash hand over fist while banging away at tulpæ of dingbats I once thought alluring. That you cannot succeed in having a “normal” conversation with me comes as exactly no surprise whatsoever. Hang on.
* Jackstar prepares to obey The Law of The Land once again.
My hands are tied. Dr. Benway and I have no choice but to take the world as it comes. Multiple times an hour, then so bee īT.
O 🍇🍊,
DEA 🍇🍉,
👁️💗🐑...
And your little dopeslut h∞r too. I don't know where she is. Just call me if you accidentally unalive her again; you're entitled to a free meal at Ruby Tuesday's and a one-of-a-kind handmade necklace for Abbos. Which I think means it'll still have some meaty gristle on the bone.Like,
seriously. Do I look like a little oinking sidekick? That's exactly what Oinky MacOinkerton would want everyone to believe. ROOKIE MISTAKE.
And now —with The Key— I can re-enable your protection grid. Also, that'll be nineteen-hundred & fifty dollars. “Recalibration fees.” Plus tip.
Cash. I don't look like any Officer or a gentleman whore, you savvμ. Goodμ. Or, hey, here's an idea: raffle off your fattest husband at the casino. No one needs to lose weight, most likely...
But, I didn't find them to present themselves as all that... heavy.
And you're so "broke"
I am not dysfunctional. I am On Pause. Try being nice for once,
schweinhund. Perhaps I'll poop you out a truffle.
