#StopTheTreaty
Done. Here, put this hashtag in your hashpipe; the one that's on a rope around your (blank).
(No, really. I didn't even know there was a treaty. And now, it has annoyed The Royal We. I put in a stop order. I get to do that. And, you know what? You get to put in stop orders too! Yours just work better on non-diplomats that do not function with Authority under aegis, and mine don't have to be anything besides be something that I want--for I only want that what I may have. Yeah, practice, and lots of it, I had plenty of time after I gave up masturbation for Lent it out and never saw any reason ever again, shrug. That_Shaw didn't buy it either, which was funny, since she was so good at buying her very own very new phones, but when she asked me to look into the suddenly on-going hostile takeover over her tribal government (I.O.U.Jed.Eyes? No, he's not just a myth, but no-one could have vouched for that legitimacy the way I did and allowed, and... oh yeah, now I remember, you totally explained all that to me and informed me about the process, right? Yes, in a dream, good for you, I had to wait until I -actually- had a -decent- reason to Go Directly To Chief, and that was a good reason, as not only was that the first time you acknowledged any roll that I ever played in that series of scenarios, it was also the first time your Chief asked me about my feelings, and instantly I started blowing out vape rings that signaled out, "I LOVE THAT RETARDED TODDLER, the first thing I thought was, "Why?" and then the second thing I thought was, "What is it about this that makes her look -actually- scared?" and then I noticed that I was way, way too instantly invested in an idle thought aout hypothetical telepathy and some dudemang (I get to call your Chief "dudemang featherdresser eraserhead" if I fuckin'
squant to,
woman," and that's when I realized... she believes in her Eagles Feathers, and her Sacred Red Tobacco + Sometimes China White Pouch, her telepathic Ancestors, her Golden Island Austro-Nigerian-Corp. children, her SuperBestSecretFriends, her Pound Me On Island Too sanctuary provisions... oh, hells yah, her crazy whacked out shit? Oh yeah. Totesboughtin. Anything I mentioned was just trash, low-vibe, that's for experimenting as a child, omfg, well, I guess she was still experimenting with a right cross then, and that was okay. (Technically, a punch thrown from a woman that actually lands on me is a Level 2 Class C felony (coz like, clergy, disabled, recent sexual assault victim, recent sexual assault victim salesman (alleged), recent sexual assault victim Trophy Husband (disputed--check his neck), and not only that--I'm an orphan. So, yeah, taking to fisticuffs could be then end of your life on this planet as you know it if I actually wanted to file a report that was gonna open up with, "Yeah, some girl hit me, and yeah, she was hitting like a girl, and no, I didn't try to dodge it, I took it on the chin like a man, and now, i want you to listen to me tell my story and I might cry a lit---HEY! What do you think you're doing, displaying visible dififculty in restraining your laughter? That's another felony if we were in Arkansas, Mister Deputy sir!)
(I know. I am beside myself as well. Why did I even -bother- with all this malarkey? Stupid human soul. Dumb years of torturous bondage. Boring thankless task. Oh, I know why, it's so we could watch Dickstar together. Which
was actually fun, given that by then, he actually was more attractive than she was. Whoever she was. There perhaps as many as 5, all blipping in and out in ways that I would not expect anyone to believe. Nor would I expect anyone to believe that I would be willing to share -most- details of this shared experience,
n'est-ce pas? That's why I won't describe -ever- what happened when I finally broke down and called Metr--- I mean, "the_police.exe" What? Fuck you, like anyone's belief by now is even sought for, let alone hoped.
Truth be told, I was never even dating the actual_actual_ACTUAL_MERMAID_SPLOOSH (not her name) but I guess I still am. She's kind of like an ocean... she contains all of life in the empty space between her ears on every alternate Tuesday, unless there's some obscure Guild rule that comes into play. Anyway, who was it who was saying that time travel doesn't exist? Azzerae. Who was it who was implying that to label oneself as "a mermaid" and a "time traveler" was to imply that one was perhaps, mentally deranged?
Well, here's a hint, both of them resort to fucking off simple questions from me whenever it suits them, while I have been consistently Mister Answers. That made it real hard for them to just block my number the other day when I was using them to triangulate A_Portal, which, obviously, wouldn't count as a "DIRECT" contact attempt. Right? Okay, let's move on.
(I mean, is that okay with everyone? Or is it getting "too hard" to do that "to figure it out" coping mechanism? I mention this because I have just about fucking had it with baseless, knee-jerk skepticism, not to mention, harassment by corrupt elements in law enforcement. It's embarrassing to have to watch what were formerly, one would assume, decently trained professionals, descend into caricatures of their former selves, just by getting a little too judgy with me. I heard a grown man crying in jail. He started it up after I had just finished a 70-minute session of leaning on the intercom buzzer and repeatedly asking, "are you seriously holding me incommunicado? like, for real? Officer? Please? Are you seriously?" and after I finally got a verbal confirmation back (a very tiny, very short, "yes," like a mouse with its tail caught in a door), and said, "Thank you!" and then stepped away from the door and sat down on my bunk... I started to hear this groaning, moaning dirge of despair, and I still have NO IDEA what the fuck this was all about, but, yeah, not only were they holding me without access to comms, in direct violation of common sense, let alone my legit civil rights, they also were unwilling to just say the word "yes" out loud to me... because in spite of how it may seem, the Law IS the Law. And Divine Law is too.
And, SEVENTY MINUTES OF DOORBELL BUZZING. "stop pushing the buzzer, or you will be punished *click*" Maybe they were gonna give me another family with another cat, and then kill that one too. Shrug. Like I gave a shit by that point. This was January. I'm still remembering it. If they wanted me to mow my lawn, they probably should have mentioned that before seriously pissing me off. And I don't know what went down here, but when I decided it was time to come home, I made three (3) phone calls and within three (3) days, there it was, a change of address acknowledgement request form.
So, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get blown away in public like Huey Long or Jackie Kennedy's philadering whore of a husband if I actually do cheat on my quasi-common-law-Amazon-Prime-(Blank). Besides, why would I need to "cheat"? All I have to do is call her, and... oh, uh, or, just take the necklace apart, and... oh, drat! Must remember to Google foolproof ways to annihilate one's own family without even trying very hard, so later, I can say that I did and then I can be immediately called a liar. Not as a courtesy, but as a test.
Speaking of tests: I passed all of hers, and she failed just one of mine. And it took an actual 16.5 MONTHS from the time I noticed that a critical failure had occured ("Did you..?" "NO! You would never even notice if we had!!!") to the moment of realization, "Oh, that's interesting, that's how mindslavery works, well, time to go home, say goodbye, and not say a fucking word about what I have just realized until I talk to an actual fuckin' attorney," and when I got there, Thunderdome had been rebranded to The Chinese Palace of White Lasagna. Definitely -not- an upgrade, in terms of Eastern Star aesthetics, but on the top end, yeah, all this "I'm not a boomer, I'm a D.O.B.!" is -actually- real. I don't need to prove it, because I know for a fact, I couldn't be here otherwise.
For essentially the entire course of our relationship, she and I had been mutually humoring each other. Sure, she was gonna help me with what I mentioned, and I was gonna help her with what she needed help with. Except, she thought the help I needed was to be sent to prison (she just knew I deserved prison, she can tell just by looking at a trail of false evidence strong enough for a man, but made by a woman and her secret thuggy piggy gang of secret squirrel backup bank-on busters), and I knew that the help she was gonna get from me, under MY Auspice, was gonna be whatever (Blank) informed me she -needed-, because for one thing, she had children, and for another, she asked for help with them, and at that point, for me, it's pretty much an everybody out of the swimming pool except for Jesus and Harrison Ford, and that's just because I have learned not to argue with Jesus about His choice of fluffer.
The last time I saw her clearly, she was on the phone, lying to dispatch about my actual behavior, that had happened over the last couple hours, and since I had heard her making other phone calls to someone else outside of my field of vision and then running back to engage again with more broken glass to spawn, when I saw that she made -this- call -in full visually direct view- I instantly realized, oh, she thinks my bio-bug is still working, she needs two (2) valid narratives with evidence, that's why she kept going back and forth TO SOME OTHER HOUSE NEARBY and why she said into the phone, "He choked me! WITH BOTH (2) HANDS!"
Yeah, pretty cool, my brain just automatically analyzes and breaks encryption codes on_the_fly in_real_time, pretty much, all by it's lonesome. It might be all that it does. I certainly don't always pay attention. However, I am alert for inconsistencies. So when she said that I had choked her... when I knew I hadn't, because I had deliberately subverted her Gesture Acquiesence Ritual for NotJokers (my favorite ritual these days, it's so graceful and remorseless, like Esther Williams and a central line with her Folger's replaced by Thor's Other Hammer) I knew that I was on the verge of something truly nighmarish, if I hadn't planned ahead, that is. Like a boss. Which was great, as by that point, I was basically no longer able to function clearly in my rational mind.
Like, why lie to dispatch? Oh, to trigger the double sortie, clearly already chomping at the bit. I wanted to just move out days ago, but I did want to see what all the whining about Christmas was going to be about, as I had resolved earlier, 2021 was gonna be the year I asked about what the actual birthday bash had actually been like, and had it perhaps been some sort of house party? So I could have left way earlier, and as most of Decemeber was spent planning an actual scheme to put me in actual custody after actually killing her--again, go bears--and then framing me for that while helpless and incarcerated alone, with none of the people I ever actually knew, either knowing what was happening to me, or be able to do anything about it, because after a certain point, like One (1) Mr. Julian Assange, take a round of applause, yah dumb blond prick, let me guess, you didn't see that it was an obvious trap AT ALL, until it was too late, right? And all he did was have a three-way without a condom. Allegedly. I doubt he was able to get it up, he probably just combed his locks and tried to explain his crypto locks to a pair of non-doxxed honeypots... and they probably didn't call the police and openly lie directly in front of his face, and if he had seen it, well... looks like he didn't have a great plan past Ecuador, yo. How you like Belmarsh, huh? Huh? Because I was only there for 11 days. It wasn't luck and it wasn't a blessing, because I just used The Law in order to escape my Christmas Trap + Post-Wrapping-Gifts Shmear, and it worked pretty awesome. I mean, just think, went from being legitimately too a-scared to sing The Grapefruit Song, not just on a stream, but EVEN TO MYSELF ALONE IN THE SHOWER, but I'm gonna bet that was mostly because I didn't want to cry and get the water running down my face and down my body to get all salty, and have to struggle to hold back tears, because, #1) I'd have really been crying when I couldn't remember the words, and #2) if I make the struggle to hold back tears into a real one, that would invalidate and cheaping the ongoing, real-time, real-world struggle of my personal, solitary Man Quest to vanquish all forms of tyranny, especially one's that don't handle mail clerk duty so good.
But, can Sourceror Nigger Husband (she actually used to call me that, until about 8.5 weeks after noticing no one else was laughing) actually -do- anything about an -actual- Pound Shit Sirius Bee Matter? Well, yeah, I could--but she couldn't -see- anything happening, and for a fucked-off mindslave suddenly finding herself in non-consensual 3d prison for Librarians Who Suddenly Can't Read Too Good Any Whore I Mean More I Mean WHYYYYYYYYY *slam*, I guess, getting real, scientific confirmations presented to her, suddenly took on a brand-new sense of importance. I'm not sure why, as I was expected to just swallow everything presented to me wholesale while she basically never even swallowed any Peace, let alone, peameal/piecemeal. Look, I'll just say it like this: it became actual Groundhog Day, literally only once or twice, but only because I saw it coming and said, "fuck that, I don't need to learn to play the piano that bad," and at that point, I started allowing telepathic directly between Chief (PROT) and I. (I wasn't shy before, I just heard that he was gay, which was fine, and that he didn't have a current innoculation vs. prairie mange. (Super important distinction. You know the difference between an inoculation and a vaccine, right? Now, before you finish answering, I'm gonna interrupt you and shout, "shut up, I'm immune, Nurse" and won't that just show you right to your seat? Hang on, let me get this former Vampire Lord that I turned into an usher show you to your private chair, and if It gets even close to fresh, don't call me, just RUN--we'll all smell that rotten fucker at that point, and I would like nothing more than any even remotely viable excuse to bust his two Busters down even a few more levels past Browntown Shine Boy. (btw: I find out what the 'Emergency' is: code 4488 "possible leader of future righteous lynch'n'steakin' mob just spotted FRESH leaving VAG, breaker one nine, looks like he's heading for a Church... uh... shit, there's no wagon allowed in the parking lot... LOCK THE DOORS TO THE STEEPLE AND RING THE BELL FROM ORBIT!!! (They were, in fact, quite panicked that day. They had to let me out, and they knew right then and there, I was totesnot boogerguilty, and as I had been model prisoner and had NOT.EVEN.ONCE ogled my complimentary Christmas.Rape.Elf (they had a right to be suspicous, how did I not rape one of Santa's Elves? They had heard some pretty impressive stories, after all. Couldn't have been rape anyway, really, although if Santa had put her UNDER DURESS and asked her nicely to remember what Elves are supposed to say when asked if they would like to be raped... well, let me tell you:
By the time this elf in particular got put in the concrete block with me, she had no idea whether she had wanted to be raped or not even in the first place, she just looked like she was way, way out of her league. (Yeah, seriously, if I'm gonna start my rape career --I am considering, I do have the publicity team ready to roll-- I am a D.O. Being of an absurdly high level of rank, renknown, and visibly indominable charismatic power and sometimes pheromones, and on top of that, I accidentally murdered my own parents (rumour! rumour! oh, that one isn't on R-Gab yet? That's just because he took credit already), so, if I'm gonna fuckin' totesrape a fucking elf, toteself or not, I'm gonna start with Legolas' girlfriends, right from Granny and going right on down the line. I'll hold my breath the whole goddam way too. Fuckin' elfs. Like that's what I got the class status for, pfft. And this elf, I don't even know if she really was from the North Pole, they might have just had some off-shift concierge from the Holiday Inn Express up in Everett flown down, just in order to be able to -legimtately- hold me in custody over Christmas.
Because, HELLO? The timing seems pretty far-fetched. Also, who -legitimately- gave a shit about my stupid little podcast, at that point? I swear sakes, land of lake galoshes, I didn't even know how insipid & inane this whole fucking thing was until I saw that, and I didn't see it until like seven weeks later, and that was the first time I thought of the fucking thing since well before All Lasgana's & Sometimes Camber Throwing Eve. And then, all of a sudden, here it is,
prima facie evidence of conspiracy. Too bad the Prosecutor is such an obvious wastoid, he probably could have learned something from being presented with an actual, tangible clue from His Mortal Enemy for once in his, oh, I don't know, 33 years or so? Sparkle, I know what you've probably been saying, I would never punch someone in the face, and, I haven't, but this Prosecutor... every time I see him, his face just screams out, "I AM A DOPESLAVE! HELP ME! COMB MY HAIR FOR ME AT LEAST!" and that sounds like Anthony too, come to think of it. (Ed. Source Knig.: Hey, buddy, here's an idea: why don't you write your own exorcism, and just give it to yourself and use some Coors Holy as your Light water? No, it'll be fine, I'll grant you permission. Yes, reallly... aand, he's gone. Oh, and he left a barely touched can of Coors Swill, he must have believed me. LOL. Imagine him, writing his own exorcism. I bet it begins with lunges.)
I know, it
does sound complicated, doesn't it? Here, have another hashtag, that might help clear things up.)