Know. Here's the deal: Brad is a racist punk bitch — and my fren. I don't know what he thinks of me right now, but he might not be allowed to have his own thoughts right now. Some murky jurisdictionary issues for now.
Similarly, SHANE BARNES is my friend. Micha is my friend. The rest, I have no idea, and give not one shit what Brad does about them. Clan Doenigger Department Of Energy In JUST ICE BUT NOT METH (and we don't inhale, we swear in our lives, WE HAVE NEVER WILLINGLY INHALED, even though we really want to, so help us God) Destroyer Of Families, Roe, Cod, & Toes With Fun Guys Weaponized With Talk Sick Black OPSçuk‹FUK (anagram to follow in a separate message, skeleton crew here and at Langley pretty sure they're all still tucked into their f****** sarcophagi escape pods f****** cowards) Doe, Clan Dough–Doe/Dœ is a real problem, there are real issues, and I f****** guarantee you no matter what f****** job I ever get. I won't be taking me getting one job to fix all the issues by themselves, so I'm pretty sure I already have a job, and it's called explaining to everybody just how badly they f***** up. Starting with Brad.
But that's just cuz I think he's handsomer and I bet he has a limitless supply of $5 to pay me. I don't know if he has to.
I do know he has two. Pfft. Now what was your question? And don't let me forget I got to give you that accurate acronym. These are historic times.
And for historic times, think Santori Times a million Kuczi clones guzzling Jap whisky. Writing acronyms. (My old job.)
IS IT NOT RELAXING BEING THIS ENTERTAINED??? (Stretch goal: get so relaxed that your anal sphincter evacuates into your goddam pants. Unless they're my goddam pants, which could be the case since all my clothes have been stolen, but if you're wearing my pants and s******* yourself into my actual pants, just sit tight, the night is still young.)
KEY TAKEAWAYS:
•; WHAT?
•: “we need an acronym!”
•: Brad is not known to be a n***** at time of this posting, but when I started he certainly was somebody's. Let me know later. (Standards.) $5 PLEASE.
•: $6,000 in USD $50 bills. What the f*** are you waiting for? Hari Krishna Christmas? CHOP CHOP, UNFATHOMABLY CIVILLY AND CRIMINALLY LIABLE SUSPECTS!
Or face further reprisals. Up to ewe, mostly. Up to me, Fuck Lee.
But up to God entirely. Capiçhe? Good talk. Don't wait up for the acronym, it might take me all night. Especially if one of your wives volunteer is to be nice for once. TO HER HUSBAND.
SAY MY NAME.
PRO TIP: IT'S NOT MONGREL ROD. (s Looks good on you though.)
CDD°EIJIBNM(...)D°FRCTWFGWWTSBO
Above, please note promised acronym, provided by yours truly, for no other purpose other than maximum satirical impact. As most jokes are no better. When they are explained, I will leave it at that; in spite of the desperate burning craven need I have, to take the time, to cross the street, to somebody's house and commit a home invasion so I can take all their $50 bills and explain why the joke is funny with the same eloquence and finesse of skill that would be possessed by the average pair of hood rats equipped with two (2) sets of needle nose pliers, one (1) blowtorch, and the mandate of Heaven.
Anything less would be uncivilized as well as a tragic waste of a perfectly great opportunity to repurpose any pair of hood rats to another useful function of society that doesn't involve mandatory performance of female on male fellatio upon demand. (Because sometimes a girl just doesn't feel like being in the mood, she also is one faux pas away from planting, scissors in temples. My hand to God.) All this may not seem very important right now.
But with God as my witness, I can assure you, I truly believe that no one wants to see a perfectly useful albino aboriginal, freshly released from the reeducation camp, turn right back around within 15 minutes and go right back to being a worthless dirty n*****. (Those of you who don't know the difference between abbos and niggos, count yourself lucky.) Similarly, I didn't go all this trouble to save my sweetie's life, just so that she's going to kill herself when she gets home from her very first date with a pair of scissors into the temple, because that s*** can happen, and if I wanted it to happen, it would probably have happened by now already.
Feel me on this: she's supposed to be happy about being alive, and if she's not, and the reason why she's not happy is that she's alive but can't talk to me or anybody that she wants to talk to without the permission of some a****** f******* douchebag chopperhead moron, that's not really either the effect that We were looking to generate here.
We meaning The Divine We. My sweetie meaning Grapefruit Alpha Prime. My patience meaning I am nearly exhausted after all this goddam foolishness, dealing with you Punyling mortal scum in the radio broadcasting industry. I don't give a s*** how much money you have, I don't give a s*** how big your ratings are, and I'll give a flying f*** out of rolling donut how important you think your dick is, none of that has anything to do with whether or not I'm going to talk to the woman again. The individuals who think otherwise are most likely not going to enjoy being demonstrably wrong in the foreseeable future.
At this point, it's a human rights issue. Additionally, the brain damage that was intentionally inflicted upon the vessel makes it a little awkward to recognize who is who. When phone calls come into my phone and it's unclear whether the person who's calling is the person who sounds like the person who's talking on the phone. Sissy would seem multiple people call and one gets through based on some military priority. I'm not privy to, that. This has been going on for months and no one has informed me of the issue. Tells me that somebody thinks that they're pretty funny and enjoy playing practical jokes on dingbat cheerleader single moms who don't actually know that they need to identify themselves with a badge and eye contact and a no name, rather than just hoping I pick up their telepathic signals that let me know which dingback cheerleader single mom dumb, lazy slow n***** is supposed to f*** and rape or rape and f*** whichever that is, I'm not really sure on how that works..
I missed that day of orientation at RapeCamp™. In fact, I missed my invitation to RapeCamp™ entirely. However, I am certainly willing to learn in order to promulgate good feelings and joyous bonhomie between our various peoples, especially since somebody doesn't think that any of this needs to be a pleasant occupation. Apparently they're very old school when it comes to the opinions of ewe.
The Lion is The King of (blank). I am a Source Titan. We are absolutely not the same.
Unlike an apex predator of the feline persuasion, I don't have to play with my prey. I could just fuck it to death. Not my usual go-to stratagem, but at least I have options. Some of us μou no longer do.
SIGNED,
>THE_KINGPINNER 1¹👁️⅒⁰\ⁿ∆§∆1!
Lord of the Demesne; Master of the House; source: heir or Z•—ggj<3® husband; D.O.D., D.O.M.B., d|_💎💎💎
p.s.·. If only ewe fucking pigs knew how bad things really are, they would simply continue fucking (You) so they would never have to give up on EvvE. (It's a real problem for backwards primitive savage cultures like yours, and it's probably why your civilization doesn't get to have nice things, Punyling scum. Check your privilege. Eyes on you.
p.p.s.·. Still—this is better than public school. (Throw in a scoliosis test every 3 weeks and you've got yourself a dead heat.) Be of good cheer.
I said you can, and you don't really have any other choice. So there.
