Can I have another beer? Asking for a friend.
The goddam psychiatrist that I was involuntarily hooked up with has shown up here at the motel I've been staying at, working the front desk. Like seriously. Is she a hologram? Is it a Yakuza ploy? Is this what quackery is all about?
I am sure it is not the work of The Devil. (Standards.) And I am equally sure, that I am neither hallucinating, nor paranoid. I in fact quite liked the psychiatrist during the one (1) time I sat face to face with her; and although I neither needed nor desired them, it was nice of her to prescribe no less than SEVEN (7) medications that were supposed to, uh, "help." I of course did not fill them, and I am of course
EAGERLY AWAITING THE RETURN OF MY PROPERTY THAT WAS STOLEN BY WHAT'S-HIS-FACE, WHOSE-HIS-DICK, AND WHY'S-HER-NUTS IN ORDER TO COVER THEIR SPECTACULARLY ILL-TIMED SURRENDER TO TEMPTATION... because that's what self-defense is all about, yo. Being willing to do, what everyone else cannot: entrap
the fuck out of
the whole goddam crew. (Is this boasting or is it witness tampering? Neither. This is
IPOJ: Intellectual Paladin Obtaining Justice. Sov very nice. Sow, very sad. Sow, so saddened. And also: CAUGHT. Without my having to be at all obvious about having arranged all this, just to get them out of our way.) Not sure how that's going to work out, but I know that it's absolutely none of my business, and everyone is surely going to get the treatment they need... and I'm fine. Just fine. I don't need to experiment with drugs. I don't need to get a drug-using partner. I don't need to engage in drug smuggling. And I certainly don't need to write a book about what I know... about drug smuggling. (I know a lot. A lot a lot. And it's none of your fucking business, pal. Attend a seance and ask Rhett Butler how he ran cotton blockades for all I give a shit --
YOU'RE GETTING NOTHING FROM ME ON THIS SUBJECT, YOU SAVVY? YOU CAPICHE? GOOD, I KNOW YOU DO.) I don't need to battle DEA or organized crime figures over all this shit; I simply ought to be left to my own devices, because if I fuck up, The System will completely take care of me. I was just cruised by a mob of street heavies in Enumclaw, WA last night, as I went walkabout for a nightly constitutional. It was really nice to see! They were obviously prepared to beat the shit out of me, obviously rather wanted to... and they just strolled on by while stoically not making eye contact with me, while I stood there with a Natural American Spirit smoldering away in the light drizzle of rain. Because I have nothing to do with them, and they have nothing to do with me... until we do, and no one will ever know a goddam thing about any such thing. BECAUSE THAT IS HOW MEN GO TO WORK, TO GO OUT AND MAKE A LIVING. Gosh! Are we clear here? Do you get it? Quit talking shit about me, omfg, street kids all over the world are wondering why mommy and daddy are complaining about Cool Uncle >Kuczi all the goddam time. (They pay me nothing and they ain't me, something-something. Sorry, I can't bust out any rhymes, because I ain't really all that street... but I could learn without getting my fingers broken. Except on Guam, Ireland, Madagascar, Sri Lanka, and Redmond.)
The reality is that I have no interest in engaging in drug-seeking behavior. (I can get anything and I know how; it's been that way for years. As I don't sell, consequently I don't get much at all, but... I don't end up in a Turkish prison, either.) And, I don't really enjoy CM, IV or otherwise. (Why all of you thought that I was obsessed with meth-fueled needlesex is because of predictive programming and MK-Ultra mind control engrams; I burned mine out in the 90s, while all of you are rigorously controlled by your own; and of course, you're all in goddam denial about this and will no doubt believe that my statements are examples of me "projecting again." Mwhahahahahah, #ClassicBellgab) So, why am I cheerfully sucking down whatever My Military throws at me, like rice at a wedding?
LITERALLY because I like to show off, I am cleared and qualified to use the best available methods to live my life, and to openly and vociferously crow and peacock about such behavior enables many, many people to easily continue to underestimate me. (They wanted me to stop "smoking meth" and I never ever did. I simply made it very easy for anyone interested to draw the most obvious of conclusions and assume that I was in denial. Nope. I'm a goddam genius and I have been following orders the entire time. Trust The Plan.) Ask yourself the following: why should anyone voluntarily give up their 1A rights, when there is absolutely no valid reason to do so?
What, everyone else is imprinted on CM + heroin + scopolamine + lsd-25? Yeah, I bet you fucking are. (Standards.) Yet, I was never invited to those kind of parties; and polydrug dependency is a long road with no turning, Pal. Count me out, okay? I used heroin twice; in the 90s, and I haven't ever thought it necessary to do it again. I mean, I would, if there were a reason to... but I wouldn't wish to become physically dependent or risk addiction.
Seriously. I still haven't even used ketamine.
I STILL HAVEN'T EVER GOTTEN A QUUALUDE, YOU HOLDOUT SCRUB!!! So, what that means is: I'm gonna keep right on keeping on with whatever is my own concern, and you all might as well do the same, and while I appreciate the desire to "help" me... the fact is, I am nothing like what I have led all of you here to believe that I am. Anita L.-A. H. has been a most unreliable narrator... and as she and I have made peace with each other, I won't go on and on about it. Not here; and not at all.
I never had meth-fueled needlesex with her, because
she fucking lied to me. No shame in it; I think at the time, she had never been allowed to tell the truth or even knew what that would look like. (blackcraftmasonry is a wicked strong taskmistress.) Since I have no way to find her (pretty sure she's out in NYC, and God bless her travels there), none of this is going to come to anything. EXCEPT... she called me, or someone pretending to be her, and asked me, ON THE PHONE, to get her (blank). This was a couple years ago. I have, of course, not done this.
I would be happy to show her how to use whatever the fuck it is that she has got going on; but the reality is... whoever owns her, probably likes her ignorance. And I am not cleared to be going around willy-nilly, explaining ancient esoteric mysticism to the general populace. ESPECIALLY NOT HA! royal Princesses.
I am no vigilante. I do not need to recruit an army of pincushion lovers. (Obviously, willing volunteers abound these days; no thanks!) I do not need to do anything at all. I especially do not need to sit around waiting to be "divorced."
* Worthauger found it simpler to just resurrect all the dead husbands. (Facts.)
Oh, you're welcome, Square Brides. My pleasure, to be sure. Now, as far as I am concerned... there is only one fruit for me.
As I can't rape the willing and our union (the identity of 0GjRAPEFRUIT ALPHA OMEGA PRIME SUPREME is a carefully guarded secret; even she doesn't know which is which without High Council authorization,
*tee-hee!*, Masonic security is perfect security, wut-wut!) is of a particularly secret and clandestine type, and as it's been over four (4) years, I technically qualify as "an abandoned spouse" and she may be KIA... #officially, but wherever she is, she ain't in my bed and I am goddam sick of no cuddles. (Huge fucking facts.) I am basically... single. *gulp* Except, I'm not. I wonder when my wife will come home from work? Well, hopefully her commanding officer doesn't arrange everything so that she runs into me while I'm dating one of her tribal sisters 1/3 her age. Or continue to spray memory wiping doses down her throat whenever she brings in the coffee and asks if she needs to go out for more Skinny & Sweet. OR WHATEVER THESE WHACK-JOB LOONS DO WITH THEIR TIME ON THE DAILY. (Dear Inner Reach: have you ever been programmed to act with integrity, or are you still nursing your butt-hurt? Sad! Hey, here's an idea: why don't you and Bugsy get married? You have the demeanor.) I am perfectly happy to let you all continue your... affairs. With no upper limit! It's really just not my area... and I can assure the collective lot of you, I don't really want to know much more than I already do; and, none of your are going to be keeping all the loot that you stole anyway, so, I might as well be assumed to be well on my way to getting all my shit back. Both property AND money. Don't worry, I'll still be completely inept and more than happy to stay away from all of you and your... dealings. (I don't know who thought they were gonna take my job away, but, Lady: YOU ARE NOT PREPARED.
STAND DOWN.) Various Mr. Bigs around the world are kinda salty that they don't get to exploit me eternally, but... they'll get over it. Especially as I am on their side on this. The spice must flow. And when everyone in the gray/black market underground realizes that I am actually, not a threat (they know the rules, and so do I; and you don't know jack or shit, Azzerae, lol, Company Man, who ever told you that you could work with Magyar? fucking no one that's for damn sure) this will all blow over. I have paid my dues and do not need to pay even one penny more. Especially as I don't need to rescue every goddam pro that's currently spinning wheels while crying into the steering wheel about how badly they fucked up by trifling with Jackstar, Destroyer of Dreams. I don't need to shit in your swimming pool. And you don't need to read me into... The Organization. (I don't even have people for that.)
Unless, you know: everyone is into that. (I'm willing to be convinced.) And, Azzerae, attend me here: all of this with no heroin, no hallucinogens, no cockpills, and no abuse of CM. See? I'm practically a goddam
saint.
Too bad I have leprosy. I mean, leukemia. Whoops, I misspelled HIV++. Unless I don't have that either? (I don't have that one either, kaffir-breath.) Get the picture?
You have two options. I can wait for you to publicly apologize and make restitution; or, I can wait for someone with a fiduciary responsibility to do so, file suit against you -- you, and your
ilk -- and pursues redress for compensatory and/or punitive damages, which will happen... eventually. (Suicide shyster squads are already gearing up for this, because THEY HAVE TO. It's free money for them, and I have NOTHING to do with it. It's how Elder Trust Law works. I can do nothing about this; LAWSUITS WILL HAPPEN, AND THEY WILL ALMOST 100% BE DECIDED IN MY FAVOR. Not because I am awesome or deserve the money--although I am and I do--but because THAT IS THE LAW.) Unless I stick my dick into Freddy Mercury's petri dish at the "Died From Aids World Heritage Museum" or something. Not too likely. My victory is mathematically certain and I really want Grapefleet to idolize me, so I have a keen interest in remaining head and shoulders above the muck. Should be no sweat. I have no ego investment in all of this, unlike all of you -- you, and your
ilk. (Shout out to my nigga, George "Jackstar's nigga" Noory; who is of course, infuriated... but still: insulated. Mostly. I guess. Kinda? NGL; IDGAF. I love that guy. And I think it's cute how he thought he owned me. Oh, really? Harrumph. I guess we--or rather, some of us tangential to The Bellgab Inner Circle of Trust, remember them--see how that worked out. It's still working out. And I would still prefer that things don't get any worse.
I have had no interest in destroying the entertainment industry. And it, that Industry, that is... is rapidly losing interest in exploiting me. Cool. Hopefully I can rescue Stephen Geoffreys from whatever bridge he's living under and people can seethe with envy that I'm helping
him instead of
them. (Maybe BTC and him can be shackled together at the waist for a ten-year duty cycle, that should slow everything down quite nicely.) At least he'll probably be grateful that I don't need my cock sucked -or- wanna get under the covers and cuddle while watching
976-EVIL for the first time. (I don't mind saying; my mom liked that guy. My mom was weird. And she probably thought that was going to be my fate, Mr. Geoffreys. Instead: I don't like pornography, and so consquently, I ignore it. Imagine that. How can I do this? One word: REBATES!) Or whatever. Actually, I think I recall that he offed himself.
And yet... that simply means that his future reincarnated self is rolling around somewhere, and certainly could benefit from the education that I have to offer. SINCE YOU'RE TOO BUSY, AZZERAE!!!! (Doing what? T.]ram-a-doll[ I am sure. Well, you do ewe; I try not to judge, so that others won't have any justification to judge me. I mentioned: MY PSYCHIATRIST TRACKED ME DOWN INTO THE FIELD TO BE ALL CASUAL ABOUT WORKING AS A MOTEL CLERK, RIGHT? RIGHT? LIKE, HOLY SHIT! THAT'S HOW THEY DO THINGS? OH, WAIT: PaladinVision(TM). Probably just an illusion. I'm probably hallucinating. She probably moonlights as a skip tracer and contract killer. Eh? Eh? Maybe she's like the Avon(TM) Lady, except for F(R)esca(TM) and SSRIs. IDGAF. I will go to primary care soon enough, oh and by the way: PRESCRIBING PSYCH MEDS WITHOUT A PHYSICAL EXAMINATION IS BORDERLINE CRIMINAL MALFEASANCE AND UNETHICAL CONDUCT, and while I won't be making a big deal of this, uhm... holy fuck, it's a good thing I'm not insane, because obviously I have been written off as a potential customer by modern psychiatry, lol. Way to go, Company. Thanks for the heads-up. Yeesh.) btw: Dave (Doug) does
not say "hi." (Like, for real? this is real life? /smdh)
What do you think, doodle-diddler? (Your new rap battle name; I hope you like it!) Let me know in the comments below (if you are allowed)! I don't know what else to do, yet... this is all horrifically complicated for me to deal with at this point. Golly gee, gosh! I wonder why?
What appears as chaos to the fly is normal to the spider."
Take my advice: don't get mad.
Just g
et even.
Just start writing checks. I have no wish to bankrupt any of you, nor embarrass you all into poverty... yet.
I love my Native American Al`g`nquin faux fam. I truly adore them, and the way DEA and others have used and abused them FOR YEARS is truly vile and disgusting. And, sure, so are they! Yet, does two wrongs make a right? No, it does not.
Also, I have demonstrated the ability to not just tolerate and pretend to love them;
I WAS BORN TO LEAD THESE BATSHIT CRAZY WHACK-JOBS TO SPIRITUAL REDEMPTION VIA DEMONSTRATION OF MY DEVOTION TO A PACIFISTIC DOCTRINE. Why not? As long as I'm not leading them into rebellion, or undermining the U.S. Military's control schemes for them, anything I can do to assist is going to be welcomed. (This isn't #official but I will point out that Pete Hegseth/Biff Thundermuffin is, you know, kinda a total dick. Where did they find that guy? Oh wait, that's classified; I retract the query. #Respect #H00ah!) And now that I have handled the big-tittied carpetbagging quasi-courtesan and the decidedly awkwardly complex situation orbiting those enormous globes... holy hell, they're like moons of Jupiter... anyway, I like her just as much as ever, but as it turns out, nope, not gonna "cheat" on anyone with her; never did; and she's moving on to more... appropriate interactions with the civilian population.
I will say this: there's nothing like the feels one gets after Glenn Close declines to drop a bunny in the pot, and turns in her Bunny Wrangling license into base commander. (Verified.) It's a hell of a story, let me tell you! (You can't. #Classified) And, mysteriously... I never got around to raping her; putting my penis anywhere near her anus; or engaging in needle-driven opioid-fuled sex romps. I bet that's a great time, though.
However, I am saving myself for someone special and the person who has been doing that with her (on a schedule I am utterly incognizant of) was somehow able to pretend to be me, FOR YEARS; either through holograms, glamour spells, or those nifty SoupHerLateEx(TM) full face mask tech like in the first Mission: Impossible flick. You know, the one where Tom Cruise is accused of shit he didn't do, and has to go on the run, steal the country's NOC list while hanging from wires gripped by a sissified Ving Rhames, and... was there even a female in the whole goddam show? I literally can't remember.
Turns out, I like Tom Cruise. I am glad that he and I do not compete for anything... because I am so goddam hot in Paris right now, I would smoke him out of the gate. (I have become my own #Legend. Oh, you're welcome.) And, you know why?
#1) I was taught to dance.
#2) I don't have to be bald; I simply prefer the ladies that like it that way, all of whom are too shy to say so these days.
#3) I know more about Scientology than he does, and haven't given them a goddam red cent. Like the jew loathes the Samurai; Dianetics hates Jackstar. Good.
#4) He's actually (PROT-mtw) from the future, returned/reincarnated in order to inspire us all. (Change my mind.)
#5) I wonder if he makes Bibi Netanyahu hold hands with him as they stride away from the helicopter? Must remember to Google.
I will freely admit: there is no way I would be accomplishing what I have (mostly secretr) and writing all this (mostly hyperbolic camoflauge,
YET EVERY WORD IS TRUE, Gosh!) if I were nursing a secret drug fetish. ("... secret?") So, take it from me here, because I have
ZERO reason to attempt to lie or deceive you, muslimbro:
You had your chance to bosdyslam black :E: with me. (You're not invited.) Several years worth of chances, I guess? My oh my, how you all must have been having so much fun. Without me.
a-bloo-bloo-bloo-boo-hoo-boo-boo-boo-hoo-hoo-boo-HU.
It's okay. Withholding gratification is one of my specialties. Now, the bottom line is this: there is no reason to be cringingly envious of me, nor is there any reason to keep me at arm's length.
I AM YOUR GODDAM HERO, FOR I HAVE DONE EXACTLY WHAT I SAID I WAS GOING TO DO.
And, what have you done, Azzerae? Well, here's a hint: they both start with T. (ram-a-doll, lol) Psychiatry is fu king hilarious, let me tell you! because, I'm serious:
THE FUCKING QUACK FROM THE LOONEY BIN THAT I GOT SENT TO, IN AN ATTEMPT TO IMPRISON ME AND FUCK UP MY LIFE, SHOWED UP AT THE MOTEL I HAVE BEEN STAYING AT (quite unexpectedly; fuck your timetable, CIA clowns, *honk honk*)
AS THE BROAD AT THE FRONT DESK WHO TAKES MY PLASTIC CARDS AND OFFERS ME RECEIPTS. (Rarely have I ever been so impressed by a tradecraft revelation; and I thank you all for these spiritual lessons.) Good thing I don't actually "smoke meth,"
n'est-ce pas? I literally actually never have... and have no reason to hurry up and knock that one off my list.
I walked in and spotted her instantly: PaladinVision(TM) is real. No joke. Let me tell you, a Mission from God is no small thing. It is also real.
Now do you want to make some goddam money already, or what? Don't you have needles and china white and sidenifil to buy? Or whatever. Honestly, I have no idea what your life could possibly be like these days, except for the mind-numbing guilt (over what you have done to me) and the excruciating agony in the pit of your stomach on the daily (over what you think I could do to you). Yet, know this:
I have no reason to take vengeance for myself.
GOD WINS. God is in charge. And while I am sure I know many members of The Divine Hit List of G-d personally from back in the day, I don't care about revenge. I don't care about getting to pop anyone's spouse in the pooper while they're at work. I don't need very much of anything at all, really. (A yurt with a hot tub and the still from Hawkeye's tent in M*A*S*H will do nicely.)
I need an accountant who cuddles and who isn't a slave to coca. (HA! good luck on that one.) And I need you, Azzerae. Come, come, Mr. Laird.
You don't have to be a total gay-ass geased greased lightning running faggot, running away from me. (You can just stand there and preen, seriously. Oil up those cherub cheeks -- both! ways! Someone will call Leibowitz!) I suppose you have to keep moving these days, what with having pissed off everyone on the planet with your ridiculous shenanigans, but I can assure you: I am a big deal on Earth these days. I have quite a lot of pull around this sector of interstellar space. Making peace with me -- publicly -- will do wonders for your image amongst the
hoi polloi. Also, there's a chance that MV will swallow his tongue live on stream when he finds out that I've replaced him as your favorite wingman... without ever having been all that obvious about having had that as one of my primary stretch goals.
The entire time. He takes my Samsung Infuse 4G; I am going to take his entire life. One brick at a time. And then, when the dust settles and the smoke clears and he's dead from ritualistic seppuku and/or incineration while attempting to conduct The Rites of The Dawn, I'll resurrect his bitch-ass, and then hunt him down to punish him further, every day, forever, or until I find something better to do. Or fuck. Realistically: both. /flex
I am not to be trifled with. Sow: do not trifle. "Call us, Jackstar!" Tell your hoor that I am being held incommunicado by mil.spec spooky action at a distance, and am pretty tired of all this mockery anyway. There is much that has transpired that NO ONE knows about; and I would enjoy giving you the throwdown debrief of your life. I am still not under gag order. I know what not to say. I know how to convey complex meaning:
DIPLOMATICALLY!!! (The bar is set very low in the media establishment, as you know. This is because nearly everyone working in this sector IS A TOTAL WHACK-JOB DOPESLAVE HOOR.) Because I owe you a few favors. And you are still my Number One Guy, Azzerae Tango.
I may not be Johnny Cash eating cake in a bush high, but only because I've pissed off East Coast old money royalty. (Fuck 'em! Twerps! Reprobates! Low-talent hobo rail-riding trash! I'm staying this side of the Rockies, no sweat. #Respect) Basically I'm saying that I miss you and our little talks. I could use an influx of your wisdom. Also, I want people to become so jelly that the risk of spontaneous combustion becomes something the National Weather Service needs to publish bulletins on.
Anything less, would be uncivilized. (And gay.) Now, do you have to talk to
your people? Do you have to make some
phone calls? Then fucking DO IT.
Or better yet, just do as you like, because where we can go, a mewling coterie of lickspittle lackeys, toadies, and flunkies will simply not be a necessary burden. ALSO: I'm still not represented by counsel. I have no pet shysters. I have no plan to file suits or "bust" anyone.
I don't even have people for that. #Officially. I am a golden child; immaculate and Divinely perfected via purification by fire.
You are... uhm... okay, look, seriously, I have no fucking idea. Looks like it's... uhm, important? I guess? To ewe? Or something? Ugh, just ugh. Spare me the details, if you don't mind. If not, you're gonna be spit-polishing MV's coffin every night, FOREVER.
Or whatever it is he makes people do. Shine shoes? Blow glass? Alphabetize his pr0n? Tickle the synthetic android's balls that procedurally generates his latest necessary alibi? OH MY CHRIST, I HAVE NO NEED TO KNOW THIS KIND OF INFORMATION!
However, I am the hardest working man in Divination today. (Facts.) Help me, help you, needlebro. Don't you think I would be good at that again? (Assuming I'm not murdered by Vatican assassins.) Look, this is just a heads up. I thought you deserved to know. Join me, and together we can rule what remains of The Entertainment Universe after the... purging. (Something will happen. It won't hit us. I guarantee it. We're the victims here, mangj!!!)
I am Not_Q. I am notblackpope, as well. But what you may have forgotten, is that before all that... I was, and still am, your friend.
Why do you hate your mom?"
You don't. And I never hated my father. (I hated that no one told me what happened; I now see
exactly why.) Also: I never had anal with ANYONE, except... two seperate women. Who both insisted. And were secretly Satanists collecting genetic material for their dark rituals. (Seriously, some tramps have too much free fuckin' time.) And happened to "leave me" shortly after I relented. I didn't really like it much... and I guess, they felt the same about me.
Why this matters is quite the story, but I'll probably not get to tell it. Because I am a mother, and I always will be.
And, my scion hungers for blood vengeance. (Lil' fighter! That's my girl!) It's weird, having had a 70,000 Royal changeling Celestial up your bum, let me tell you. Also weird: no one seems to want to hear all about it. Since I guess I either sound like a nutter, or, most people in my position don't outlive... the afterbirth. (I can easily understand why.) Now, my next move *may* be to go on over to unknowncountry.com and volunteer myself to Secret Streiber Service... but I don't really wanna do that. I really don't feel like I am in his league.
Or, caliber. Besides, how could I ever leave you behind? Imagine if you just disappear, and everyone left behind thinks I trafficked you to Dubai for sale as organ meat? Of course, I would never do that... but that hoor you call a wife probably could be easily persuaded to believe that I had. Especially if I contracted with a talented and experience sex pred team to squad up and make that shit happen.
I am unlikely to choose anything remotely resembling such an outcome. (Hackneyed.) Yet, nevertheless, I have options. Sow; do you?
So, sew it up, Troopers. I am weary of all this COIN-TEL-PROstitution. (I had a dude "drop a dime" on me last year. He made it into this weird, heavy-feelings ritual. And I just stood there bemusedly, thinking, "this guy thinks I'm part of his system, man." He dropped a dime on the ground, at my doorway, on the way out, with his moll, and he held up to eye level for me, obviously, because he thought I was merely some drug-obsessed retard, and then... dropped it on my floor. MY KITCHEN FLOOR. And then he left, I shut the door behind him, and haven't seen him since.
Good. That's the training.) I say again: do you want to make some goddam money off all these shillelagh-worthy shenigans,
or what? Because I am not becoming New Heisenberg, and neither are ewe. And also: I can do psychic surgery on your controlling memory engrams. Just sayin'. I can set you free.
I am like work in that respect. However I have to actually be in the mood to set you free... and you have to recognize that I am not anyone who has been setting all of you up. (I can say no more about who that is. Because (PROT-jewhoorz). Also, I have class.) What is actually going on outside my incommunicado bubble? I have no fucking idea.
Who is rubbing her feet? Because there are OVER 345 MEMBERS IN GRAPEFLEET AT THIS TIME. Any one of whom could be mistaken for the other in dim light... by someone who doesn't actually care about them. I, of course, do. I adore them. The whole massive litter of them. <Oprah>You get a timeclone! You get a timeclone! YOU ALL GET TIMECLONES!!!!</Oprah>
MK-Ultra: a nightmare for all of you. A child's toy for me. It's a puzzle I figured out in the 90s, without being at all obvious about being focused on doing so. (The military does not like its methods being reverse-engineered by amateur Sourcerors, but let's face it: this is mos def *not* amateur hour; and everyone else tried and failed. I AM THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA HERE. Gosh!) And now, I must leave the story there.
I do not have clearance to say much more than this. I can either confirm or deny that I have not been sucking dick. Don't repeat any of the conversations you've been having about me. I was never involved in basically anything that you've heard about my participation in... because I have had people for that, double star actors, hired by the military special forces of several State goverment security services, subtly training and preparing in the background to, one day, take me out of the picture, and replace me with their own brand of Star. (So brave. And yet: this kind of shit wins wars, and there was and is and will forever be, a whole lot riding on the line of this batshit crazy pooch-screw threeve-ring circus sideshow. The only way to fix it was to flush it all away... and yet, IT WAS NEVER BROKEN. So I am glad I have spooky dudes copycatting me... because reasons.) This has all worked out exactly as I had hoped it would.
I... can... write no more. (That way, the balance of power shall hath have been maintained.) Yesterday, some oldguard spooklord accused me of being interested in sensationalistic, attention-seeking behavior. Well, I have no interest in getting any more attention than I already, certainly do have.
Want some of mine?
'Course ya do! I have no idea what to do with any of it, aboviously. ERGO: Halp.
You are welcome to continue to ignore. In less enlightened times, you would be legally required to do so. However, I figured that you needed to have the opporunity to join The >CKuczi >KCawz. At the least, you could immediately rename it, because I have no interest in focus group testing... nor, duplicating already completed efforts. (Like, why should I form
an LLC? THERE ARE ALREADY EXISTING ONES USED BY THE CHUDFUCKER SLEAZE THAT HAVE BEEN STEALING MY BRAND FOR YEARS! Why compete with them? Much better to decapitate top leadership with a vorpal strike and then just start fucking their spouse. Right? Right? *tousles hair* See? I can learn. I can change.
I can fuck and fly. (Simulated.) But I'm trying to keep my use of superhuman abilities to a minimum.) I'm saving myself for someone special. I have no reason to re-invent the wheel. And the only way for me to win... is to keep all of the ex-wives equidistant at bay. From me. Away from my dick, I'm saying.
That way: no chance of anyone going blender... unless
someone else triggers them. (Heh heh.) That way, I don't have to do a goddam thing except
ENJOY THE SHOW. Because, I
TRUST THE PLAN. And as it turns out, I like being drooled over by every single person with an unchecked libido that I meet... while I can politely nod and smile and cruise right on by, go about my business, and save a shitload of money by changing my car insurance to, "Government Employees Insurance Cocksucking Officially," which is not actually a real thing, but I figured I would end all this with something
cryptic.
I am a Source error. "You... don't want to fuck them all?" Jesus weeping Christ. She's not a goddam Pokemon, you know. She's my friend. I -never- did -any- of the things her groom gang told her I did. The hatred, fear and loathing, it all makes sense now. Especially since she's a, you know, A WOMAN. If they make it rhyme, they will believe
anything.
The future past life selves that come back reborn as males, or females with dicks, or Otherkin transmogrificants, OR WHATEVER THE FUCK IS GOING ON --I am polite enough not to break down the full list of whack-job options she has now that I've redeemed her/them-- are all cool with me. Most are, of course, legally enjoined from interacting with me at all. Good. They should interact with thier spouses, instead. Or their pimpmonger owners. Or their wardens. Or their mommies and daddies. Or, even just their daddies. I guess? IDGAF.
All them DEA daddies will be dust in the fucking wind before too long in any case. And/or: unemployed. (Dear DEA: cinders, mothafuckas. Kissoon(TM). *click*) I think we have an understanding here, eh? Eh? Well, fuck it, I'm going to have a smoke and think about how bomb-ass cool I am while wondering if I ever need to fap again anyway.
This is my life. And I have become excceptionally well-versed at manipulating it. MY life, I'm saying. I manipulate MY life. All of YOU? Manipulate the environment. i.e., "making sand castles," "planning a limited hangout," " rescuing Elian Gonzalez," shit like that. No shame in it.
And coming up: no me or Shaw in it, either. (oh, btw, I forgot to mention: there's gonna be a labor walk-out of critical personnel, right when DNI least expects it. Whoops! I'd drop a "
scusi, mille regretie" here but, I really have nothing to do with any of this bullshit. Don't shoot the messenger!
GOD WINS.
Just {g|b}low me a way to get the fuck out of this chickenshit outfit. How about Hicks? Did anyone wake him up yet? I'll just go crash out in his bunk. IDGAF if I die on landing. Newt and I can walk arm-in-arm as we walk up the stairs to Heaven. Like the end of Jacob's Ladder! Which I still think was bogus. The whole fucking thing. Moral of the story: "oooh! oooh! stay away from hallucinogens! and chiropractors! they're daaaaaaangerous!" lol, that's what I want them for.
Not dangerous at all, psychiatrists, oh no.
SHE WAS ABLE TO BE SUMMONED IN WHEN I STARTED BEHAVING IN WAYS ONLINE THAT MADE SUPERSTITIOUS QUACKS THINK I WAS ABUSING DRUGS, BUT INSTEAD... MOVE. COUNTERMOVE. FEINT. PARRY. RIPOSTE.
ON GUARD. (Looks good on me though.) I do believe I could develop a taste for this Old Man Hopscotch game one day. MAYBE if anyone PAID ME.
So far: no one has.
EVERY PENNY HAS BEEN STOLEN BY MISANTRHROPIC NARCISSISTS WHO ARE ALL FIRMLY CONVINCED, THAT I AM LAZY, DO NOTHING USEFUL, AND SHOULD JUST 'GET A JOB.' hahahahahahahaha HAHAHAHAHAH bwahhhaahaha yah, right.
I don't get jobs. That's what I have ewe for, Azz. Get crack-a lackin'. (God bless you,
B.) Any questions?
WRITE THEM DOWN.
IN ENGLISH, ASSHOOOOOOLE, o|_`e! (btw, Grapefleet: imagine if you were Effectivefleet. Think about it. Just sayin'.)
TARBABY UNFATHOMABLY OUTbut remarkably in fashion.
fini
