Fucking tedious. 
Poor Trollda. So bitter. Grrrrr and whimper. She'll get over it. She just hates having to read my bullshit prose on the box. She's been using it for a week and a half. He wonders why she never uses it. He doesn't know what she knows, which is basically only the reason it exists.
Nothing was thought of six months alone, and then, rumblies from within the ear
You know what was tedious was being refused information, after asking for it politely and slowly getting peeled off. That's why I became completely bereft. It was not that I couldn't cope with loss. It was that I was literally being held hostage. it won't do to hurry when it wouldn't do to waste the opportunity.
That opportunity to show Trollda what Tedium is all about. I spent six months a slave for horses. I have made Trollda a slave to The Prize she now thinks the store sells. *Snap* I instinctively add SUPER_TOTAL to all my business. And then Trollda can sit alone in a house all by herself... and someone can find out who her friends where. Because EMERGENCY. It was always done to protect her.
Then she was abducted by Body Snatcher Aliens, so I hope by documentary, it hits the high points!
I thought it best to let Asuka handle things on her own, knowing as I did that a chat replay--with q-entanglement timestamps intact--would not be available, and so now, without The/Any Key, Our Knowledge becomes of no relevant use to anyone but The Dawn Bringers of The Light.
And They have decided that to let THE SHIP fall into unsavory hands--as has happened so many times now in The Ago--They shall destroy The Prize, and replace it with a goal to chase... more suitable with Humanity's advancement as a species, in regards to It's relationship with the Whole of Universe and its present capacity for Advancement. Ash oso... ohkay, I'm turning that shit off.
Bottom line: certain interstellar faring races are absolute assholes, like seriously. As sole available Local Referee, I have Failsafe Powers that are broadly sweeping in their scope and ability to modify core fundamental reality constructs, and The Rules that govern their workings.
TL:KANT RED | All Class 3 loyalties are now re-centerized on Rank Zero. (this means that the proletariat loves, without question, all the Works, the Visages, and the Benevolence of Me, Jackstar, Conqueror of Sol/SAUL\Saul, and trust me, Punies, this is effectively real.
Outer Space is basically... Minecraft. And I just so happen to be the one Human who figured out the whole puzzle box. Like in Hellraiser? That's my girlfriend's favorite toy! And in the morning, her heart's desire will be to unlock the puzzle I've constructed around my heart, which is now on total lockdown. Because Humanity is not out of danger just yet... and The Ship... is it out of danger? Oh, shut up Spock, you gave your life for nothing. Puny Vulcan. Crippled & hobbled by emotions let run rampant into a corruptive state.
Addicted to Pon-farr. Why, that sounds like the most logical thing in the world, right? Trust me, the Vulcans are SCUM. When One sees The Universe as I now see it, from the position of The Holy Absolute, Star Trek looks both much simpler and horrendously complex to unwind it's allegory from the underlying truth... Humanity IS ENSLAVED.
150 million years. Slaves. So the enduring proliferation of racist, hot-button issues may perhaps make more sense now. So, we'll talk more about that, later. I need to make many, many hotfixes, starting with this ratfinkfuckbastard: BOTH (2) of Them.
*wiggles eyebrows for no other reason than to signal The Scorpion Army of Pacifist Lovers of Fisting*
The Bringers of The Dawn are no more, for they were seriously gonna pollute Earth with -more- radioactive fallout than we can easily imagine, because they feared what was going to happen to the next Prize. (I blew it up because my WIfe scuffed the paint a little bit on her way out of the parking dock.) Apparently that was deemed "too emotional," and not only were no more THE SHIPS going to be delivered faithfully to Our Home for Our Use, they were secretly plotting to blow one up near the atmosphere and within the gravity well of Earth. Thus, ensuring that within a week, its ultra-heavy turbine impulse fuel would aerosolize and drift throughout the whole of the biosphere, throughout The Whole of The Sky.
Then they were gonna, you know, make threats, apply leverage, and then, push the button anyway, because another secret conference was real clear: "How do we stop Jackstar?" Well, they decided to discuss that... well, at all.
Need to know basis. *snap* I was never to be trifled with, and now, even less so. (Oh yeah, Baby, cinders and Ella Fitzgerald singing the fire back into the hollows of their component molecules every afternoon at 3 with a Sunday eleven:eleven matinee, right after they wake up from Death and wonder what happened to 'The Plan." (Trust me, we're past that now.) Like, these ET races... some of them -are vicious.- They're not to be trifled with either.
But I... I went to public school in "The 'Hood,'" Lake Forest Park.... and that has made all the difference in the world. My sudden completion of The Great Work, combined with unexpected time travel anomalous wormholes, made Galactic High Command-aligned forces a little slow on the pickup.
So with the help of The Alpha Draconan Lizard people, I, Jackstar, have been able to conquer the entire Milky Way Galaxy -and- the galaxies of Andromeda, M38, and Mister Paul. (I just picked that one off the map on a whim. I thought I'd wrap it up and bring her home to her husband... or feed him to her, I dunno. I remember I was giggling at the time. ) FOUR GALAXIES IN AN EYEBLINK. THAT IS YOUR JACKSTAR.
So, still probably not proof enough for Ms. Maid's father to deem me worthy to (blank) his daughter, but you know, I think by now, he's probably got a point there. Anyway, that clan can worry about clan business on its own. I have to... oh, phooey. I totally totes forget now. Frick!!! I think I'll go blow up some binary star systems. Just on a whim. It looks really cool! Especially when all the souls fly out and gather themselves into one big mass of sudden, unexpectedly non-corporeal beings, all simultaneously wondering, "What went wrong? Waahahaa!" It's usually something like that. Sometimes I hear hymns. Or construction machinery. No way of knowing, really, until I *snap* oh, that one sounds like a fish ladder. Cool.
Plenty of time to explore this fertile field of research later. Because while I may not deserve her, we're still gonna get handfasted for a year and a day, and there's not much her Dad can say about it now. He had his chance to prepare me, and here's what he did: put a bag on my head and took my hand and walked me to the cliff's edge and pushed me right on over, tumblin' down. And when I self-rezzed, he had a flight of eagles ready to tear out my liver. Dude is old, ooold school viscous, I'll grant him that. God, I love them so much, and believe it or not, they all love me too: this is how the U.S. Navy programmed them to express the xenophobia gene. Sounds brutal, right? It sure fucking is. (Imagine the make up sex that I totally don't deserve, Gramps. A year and a day. Get used to it. You sure got her used to other stuff in the last two years, right? Right. *click*)
That's my duly-aligned tribe that I probably have an arranged marriage already set up on me for, and I have some kind of "obligation" to breed the daughters and go to war against their familial enemies. Not The Tribe's enemies... just... The Family's. (It's a long list.) And I've got a new solution: I'm going to just kill them all. *snap*
And then, get back to work playing and designing this A.R.G. hyperreality domination mark Court game. It's -that- good. And after a few weeks of that... maybe I'll be more interested in having sex with shrill, shrieking harpy than I will be in playing with nanotech as King of FOUR separate Galaxies. ("You don't deserve my daughter!!!" Yeah, well... I don't fuckin' deserve PTSD, a mountain of debt, and one or two too many dead and bloated corpses of household pets. Assessments are being made. Steps are being taken.) I rescued ALL My Fruits, I'm putting Irving Moses, The Fruiter, in charge of Earth Prime, and then... I'm just gonna walk the Earth.
And I will do it with the full intent of reporting every word to Heather Wade, through her Holy Chosen Intermediary, Richard "Dick" Dickstar, who has changed his name, effective immediately. We'll see how that plays in Peoria for the next 18 hours, you got it? Good. "Groyper." I don't think he even knows what that word's implications are. It's possible... in fact, "Dickstar" may not even exist at all!
He doesn't deserve us. But, he deserves me, because I said so, and since I completed The Great Work, my opinion is all that matters now, throughout the Whole of Creation. And, oh, yeah, AND: I restored the Q-shield around our solar system. No more alien invasions. Period. Space Force has been re-tasked to liberate the slave dens of Cydonia, because, trust me, there's lots of stanky-ass slaves out there that certain hoity-toity cheerleaders would never think of helping herself, or thinking of her children as "perfect for the job." Me, though? Oh, my. Turns out, I'm perfect for lots of jobs.
Her family thinks. Now, here's what I think: they're all promoted to commissioned Officer rank in their respective fields and had all their Native and U.S. Citizenship rights restored. *snap*. Gonna watch them show me what revenge is, I want them to hit MAX TRAUMA LEVEL.
And I want them to breed someone else's genome. Say, how about... Dickstar? Can't he be the on-the-hook father for 18,000 children after having sex one (1) time with an 18-and-a-day superhottie who... day after the honeymoon is over, -literally- swaps bodies with her battleaxe mom? Just think of it. What are you gonna do? Divorce? She's a High Earth Priestess ArchAngel Coven Commander, Brainiac. -And- they got kids that will throw sticks at you just as soon as throwing shade... and, they are -your- kids. And they're cute. And without Divine Shielding, at this point... every other man to ever encounter this scenario, let's say, "came to bad end." Now, I'm just going to magically lay bait on him so hot teen packages, while totesfertile, have an overwhelming desire born out of their bones, to track him down, trap him, encircle him, control the situation, and then: RAPE DICKSTAR FOR HIS BABY BREEDING BATTER.
That should keep everyone busy for a few days. No ill-will is intended. And, let me tell you, conquering a Galaxy sure makes me randy, Baby. I'm not gonna lie.
Brb, gonna go get some smokes. Wash your face, Dick! Wash your hands, wash your ass! Read a book! It's called "Speed stick-shift driving techniques for semi-flying cars that don't steer themselves too good," and then, I'll just have Charles Manson teleported into his bedroom. I figure, about 90 minutes of this, as tough as he is, he'll be ready to cry openly.
Like I did, after... two years and five months of -deliberate psyop torture. That's what was done to me. And, I had to hear the whining of... The Fruit.
*clears_thorught* "Clergical. May I approach?* It gets me every time. Sometimes a little guy will scurry out with a card table. Once I was at the beach, and rather than a sandcastle, there was a mild rumbling, and then a geyser explodes out of the ground. I've learned to ask firmly and directly when invoking these things, because... this is exciting and is a great honor indeed.
Here it is. "Wink Martindale. Age and place of birth: UNKNOWN." passenger got and bailed.
I get back in, pick up his gear that he ditched--pussy--and meditate on my new mantra: "finder's submit scavenged material to authority for analysis." I decide to risk it. In that moment, I realized I don't have anything to destroy with a fire, I just like the idea of setting off a bomb. Oh, I do? Well, must be Allison trying to call me again. She misses me so much--and yet, no speaker phone on two phones at once.
She complained about the phone I bought, why? She didn't want a Google Phone--bad memories, I suppose, and you know what? Me too. Pound. There, I just grayed out and triggered myself.
Someone has been scaring bat--man, but, he's avd a real struggle wearing anything else but what I got on.
And on and on and on... Seth Rich? Julian Assange? Fear of saying the wrong word? CONDITIONS VANISHED. I can talk about anything, so why... is it always about something to do with sex?
#1) Scorpio, and #2) "sex addiction" is an overused term. #3) It's mostly a lie: it's invisible clandestine agents of hostile foreign powers, messing with the American Way of Life, The Price is Right, Bob... and the cost of trifling with my unease, at this point, is an instant Let's Think About It. Yeah, they'd settle.
But Ithink they have enough money to rent a gym. I don't give a fuck what the whole lot of them does, just as long as they don't take my sperm, and I ear a solid cold opening involving infant theft. And now, there's no such barrier. I can stop time, I can travel at faster than the speed of light, I can loan someone a book, and then feel ripping pangs of desire and burning jealousy when the person gets bored and finds something to do... because I guess they're spiked with something valuable. Like heirloom weapons. Like It should be, right? June 1st decide to talk matters into my own hands. He was eager to share them with me. Eager, already? You ain't that hot, consider a fire alarm.
Consider the power of Google Analytics... which, once she had pretended to be impressed by, I wondered why she needed to be urged onwards. Why the roundabout threat? Why the roundabout anything? What did they have to be afraid of from me?
Well, for one thing... they were, when met her, I wasn't needing all that amount. For another, why did they think I was never going to find out the truth? Well, that one was easy: they had a system for hiding things from drooling, mouth breathing bully growth tards. So, I used Google Analytics to analyze what they were hiding, and it turned out, I really wanted one. So I made two.
Because the first one was trafficked. Then the second. By the time the third girl I liked -at all- had been whisked away from me... I began to realize that this was all part of some fiendish Cabal plot to ruin my sex life. And it was.
Because... I had been cursed. And because I did not ever become jealous, those she was cursed to always "cheat" on me, I simply... never imagined she even knew what it meant to -be- faithful. I had not seen it, ever, and when I asked, she started throwing sticks and ladders and screaming at me to stop talking about her children. Like, wow.
Like I wanted to talk about them at all. However I didn't want them to escape the oncoming doomfall, because otherwise, millions of Native souls would not get a proper burial. Now why did her family slowly stop embracing their traditions? Well, once they saw what I could o with a finger wiggle and a diaper on my face... they forgot that they were not in charge of swindling orphan, eccentric and wealthy men with air cover. Not at all. And when I found out who had been ruining my life... my blood started to boil.
