(The following was written in response to someone annoying me, and my growing fetish for being annoying right back. While I do acknowledge that this is petty behavior... It has the benefit of being completely legal, not being absolutely nothing at all, and unlikely to make anything any worse at all. Since apparently we can't just all collectively get past this? Okay, fine. Stupid Feds. Dumb Special-Agents-in-charge. Moron Leaf liasons. Pffft.)
I know it seems like removing the squeaky wheel is the most effective notion, but consider the following: lubrication.
Also: as I am a Primary Victim, it is my right to face my accusers... but I'll do everyone a solid and pass on this right.
Number one: this is all a dress rehearsal. IT'S NOT EVEN A REAL SKIT, SOW!! And number two: their ewe cannot handle the truth.
Fair. They shouldn't have to. So I won't press the issue... and I truly have no idea who has been covering everyone with napalm and then selling collector's edition matchbooks: $5 USD.
A pity. At ten matchbooks per $50 bill, I am an invested stakeholder; but I'm going to let that one go as well. I'm not really very vengeful.
And, if I were, I would still let God handle the vengeance. Like, I have no idea what anyone deserves. Wouldn't that be traumatizing? If I had to actually discover who was still being allowed to exploit Our Society’s system of criminal jurisprudence? Because I don't want to know who they are.
I would never be able to take them seriously, ever again. I don't want to burn those bridges.
I don't want to be known as a cruel man. (It's a secret.) And as soon as “my wife” calls me and tells me how “our children” are doing, I'll be stepping up to home plate to bat fly-balls all day! LIKE IT WERE MY JOB!
Meanwhile: I don't know if they're all involved together, or they all just picked the same relative time to portal in to, or, if it was someone's bright idea to assume that I am a sex-obsessed weirdo, again, but as I'm not... the repeated use of my friend to trigger an addictive, uncontrollable behavioral response... it's just tacky.
I understand the military mind is not adept at improvising. Nevertheless: pig-pile on Kuczi seems a hackneyed battle plan. I think I'm offended. Was I really supposed to be relaxed about more black magic psyop efforts?
That's gotta be expensive. Well, I'm glad the country isn't bankrupt. And I'm glad that this is really the very last time The Company will embarrass itself this way.
And Grapefruit can be confident that she's not in any position to need to protect me. *tee-hee!* I don't require anal sex.
I don't require sex. I require that the terms of The Treaty are respected. Thankfully, she requires that too! When she's allowed to remember herself. I don't know how often that is.
I don't know much of anything that's happening these days, other than ... Still, no hugs. Or apology. Or settlement offer. Or car keys. Or information about my laptop and my enchanted ounce of weed. It's not critical, I guess.
But what is critical is that a bunch of übernerds online get to coordinate yet another scheme to embarrass me. Pfft. I don't think I even need to be aware of embarrassment as even a thing that is real anymore.
Especially as: it is an Illusion. I have no reason to be embarrassed because no one knows the truth about what I am embarrassed about; and no one has asked.
They have simply assumed. Or, been respectfully silent. That's the right thing to do here, btw. Respectful silence.
However, Inner Reach put out more content and expects me to reply. lol. Okay, I will. Later.
I don't feel too bad about winning, but I don't know how I can prove that I had anything to do with my enemies deciding to be obnoxious twerps, again, all at once. I had nothing to do with it.
And I also didn't think I had so many left. Maybe space aliens reprogrammed all the Masons... AGAIN. (Looks good on ewe though.) I think if that happened, it would be a secret, so I'm not surprised that no one told me.
Since I was told that I was that Z•—gjgj<3. Isn't that a red flag? Seems pretty hateful. Why can't the ringleader to a hate ring cult be identified that way? Seems like if soccer moms bamboozled into drug mulimg with triangles... it might have been easy to just send them all letters in the mail. If not arrest them.
I don't know how this kind of thing is done but I would like it if they were all arrested at the same time. I don't know if Bellgab is sitting capped at 999 members, but, I know there's a large number of them, and they hide.
And just today, one of them sarcastically laughed at the notion that anyone would ever come after them for stealing from me. They seemed sincere in their derision. I know, it seems like I'll never do anything about anything at all! Just look at me, not shutting up.
I'm writing with Google Board with my mouth held closed, so I'm “shut” in at least one sense, but I'm sure that this writing isn't going to make thieves and dopeslinging rapepimps very happy. I don't know if anything makes them happy at all, to be quite honest.
Because as soon as I found out that “dopeslinging pimpthug” was a problem that no one with jurisdiction knew how to deal with successfully, I have devoted my purposes to doing something about it — without being at all obvious about it.
I'm still busy. War King. So, so bad Lμ do I feel, alas, another ten months until my sweetie isn't grounded anymore? Why, that's great news!
As I know, I am not in control of the situation with my sweetie. I heard she has a new, uh, “boyfriend.” And I was told, in no uncertain terms, that if I didn't stop thinking about her... I was going to get my balls cut off.
(*cue melodramatic music*)
Was it even real? I really don't know. I did know that I couldn't possibly take it seriously... and that I couldn't and still don't understand why confabulating such a story was thought better than telling the truth.
I guess it was a chain of command thing. Obviously it was not going to help a conspiracy to tell me openly, “we're plotting to consume your essence and abduct the Holy children of God,” because I didn't find out about that hidden stretch goal until this last Winter.
I guess these kinds of things used to happen on the regular. Well, they don't happen so regularly anymore. I don't know what happens much anymore, because my goddam phone only lets ridiculous messages get through.
So, it's a good thing I haven't tried to format or brick my phone. It has all the physical evidence needed by anyone who wants that kind of thing. And rather than use it to threaten people... I just carry it around. Everywhere. Even the places where I, you know: “get high.”
I don't call 911. Unless it matters. Dispatch has a real job, and I think it's rude to waste their time.
That's why everything that I know of, is being handled INTERNALLY. That way, blackcraftmasonry can keep their secret stuff away from most people. And if they can't, well, that's nothing to do with me.
I am a level 360 Freethinker. I'm not a big-shot Freemason. I do not have a cult. I do not have a guild. I do not have a family.
I have a military; and so does God. And if there's anything I can do to help, I hope that isn't going to involve making all the guide people melt from the inside-out. Like Doctor Doom.
(I just saw that trailer.) I'm not that kind of Sourcerør. (I am Magyar. He is Latvian. Huge difference.) Nor am I the kind of citizen who craved vigilante justice.
Nope, I'm good. I simply hope that Feds can handle arresting Bellgab without making a bigger mess out of it than it had to be. Since they've been doing... whatever. For years.
Without any real prob well lem with getting “caught.” Well, they are not yet informed. I guess? Did they escape into the future? Are they all that retarded? What exactly keeps them safe from catching Federal charges? (It's probably a secret.) Well, whatever.
I don't want to know. I have people for that. And every day that goes by without hearing from my sweetie is another day in Paradise.
She deserves to live, not because she's innocent, but because I like her better alive. And also: she's not a Valkyrie. That's a different lady. People know these things.
People want authenticity. I want my wife. We are very nearly the same. (I would prefer not to have the wrong wife delivered to the wrong prison.) And the truth is, United States Military Code of Justice (USMCJ) works entirely differently than the civilian population expects it to.
For one thing, it works at all. And for another: you're not supposed to know how it's working, Punylings. Step off. Kick rocks. So there.
I'll make sure to let my wife know that her enemies still hate her and are more afraid of me now. This was my plan, ever since I was told that she was afraid of “intergalactic bounty hunters” that were after her because of “body snatching.” I did not take her seriously at first.
But I still planned to ignore any bounties, since she's very priceless to me, and had already accused me of trading her away for “several dozen virgins.” I didn't trade her at all!
I simply got tired of being lied to, and turned the matter over to Jesus. To keep her alive, and to make sure her family knew that I am their hero. I don't need her to be my eternal servant.
I do need everyone to know that I wasn't tired of Grapefruit at all. I guess it's complicated, now that's she's not dead? Okay, that's fair. It should be complicated.
Especially since it's secret: whatever crimes she's being punished for. I have no idea. I simply know that I wasn't supposed to know about any of it. Okay, well: now I know.
Murdering me won't change that, but it would seem the people in command are too terrified to make rational decisions. Or maybe they're being driven by psychotronic mind control weaponry. I have no idea what, as a collective, blackcraftmasonry is doing with its time.
They're not seeming to be eager to apologize. I don't think they are working on my wedding quilt. And I can only conclude that I just gave them a week. Still: no acknowledgement of remorse.
And someone ran another psyop on my Demesne, which isn't altogether bad, but is rather expensive. And this is TAXPAYERS’ MONEY! WTAF?
Sheer lunacy and no doubt Masonic law will deal with the bad actors. And I will never have to know who any of them were; they handle anonymity in a clever way at this level. Masonic Security is perfect security.
It's a little slow and a lot racist, but that'll possibly change soon. It might even have stayed a secret if I don't mention it, but I'm proud to be, I guess? Non-black Aryan (Slave-class) genestock. But not Pureblood, allegedly. Because: needles.
Or maybe that's one of the three (3) narrative cover stories. I've also heard that I'm “The King of The Vampyr” and that I might be “too conspicuous” if I don't start wearing pants. Why this matters now? Who knows!
But as it has been years and I have no reason to appease any of these people, I am free to just ignore all this foolishness. After all, their identities are all secret, at least to me, and I have no need to exploit any of them for my own gain.
I have people for that, and I don't know who they are either. IDGAF. What matters to me is that Grapefruit is alive, and suffering.
I would like to talk to her, but alas: as soon as I could, I put someone else in charge of controlling myself. I don't have her number. Someone has to allow me to be called.
So, I'll just wait. And in the meantime if that's making people uncomfortable I am not surprised. I didn't feel very comfortable being put in jail and made to look impotent. I was especially uncomfortable to know that we were being lied to by “our friends.” I think they really thought it was best to simply kill us, at first.
Now it's not at all best, but our murders would be the only thing that homicidal maniacs would understand at this point. After a few weeks of painfully withdrawing from whatever chemicals they were dependant on, they really ought to care about one thing: “must kill Pap Shmear.”
Not many people will get that joke, which makes it all the more infuriating to anyone who is a mindslave to a hostile foreign power, I don't know how many are left, but they certainly aren't very friendly — and they haven't ordered the people keeping tabs on me to start being sorry. They're not sorry at all!
Good! They're also not dead at all. I like my friends alive. That way, they can wander around looking for a good place to squat when they're in a graveyard, instead of just, like ... vanishing. Or whatever they did before.
I guess none of them have to stay alive? I didn't need to raise the dead, and I haven't. I also don't want to replace my wife with a zombie or a whore with an animal's brain. Either metaphorically or literally. Like, I don't really know if that's an option, you dig? It looks like it is, though.
We exist in a world where the fear of illusion is real. And somehow, people became afraid of telling me the truth. Whatever that might be. In many cases, I think I was simply lied to out of habit. “I don't know,” is such a milquetoast way of looking weak; why not elaborate into a full-blown lie, rather than exercising one's right to remain silent?
Two reasons: PEOPLE KNOW. They already know. So making up more lies just looks cheap. It also alerts observers to the existence of more secret information. Yeee-haw! I had no idea how many secrets these whack-job loons actually had!
So, now I know. wew lad. The other reason is that there's no real reason to keep triggering Special Consequences on my behalf, since I don't even know what to wish for (if I was going to rely on wishes, wink wink nudge nudge) and I would rather just have a driver pick me up in one of my vehicles, and then get out of my way.
Evidently this is not how such things are done. Okay, fine. I don't know how things get done at all with fully half (“Half!”) of blackcraftmasonry being so out of touch that “okay, one more assassination attempt on Kuczi, all in favor say AYE!” seemed okay, or maybe they took a secret ballot, or their demonic hivemind simply overwrote their positronic brains, like who fucking knows about Masons these days.
(That's a secret too.) Anyway, don't worry about it, because I never thought any of this would go on THIS! GODDAM! LONG! Seriously, they can't just let me have my money and my overly-sexualized network of friendships with people all over the world?
Yeah, I can see that being thought to be a National Security risk. Since I'm, what, too high -and- too fat? Also I'm not a team player? I don't have a team.
The Continental Army is not “a team.” Are they even real? I have no idea. If they are, they don't like dopeslinging pimpthugs hiding behind false color of law, however.
No one really does, except for those who have chosen to flee from the forces of Justice. Whatever they are. Most people don't trust that notion. “Forces of Justice.” That's good, they should not trust any such group.
I trusted The Plan; and that has made a great deal of difference. Don't ask, I can't tell. For example, who wrote The Plan? I have no idea.
When my phone works again, I'll ask around to find out who is willing to holler at me for rescuing all these twerps. They were never going to get away; they were going to be sacrificed to their Dark Lord. Eternally.
Well, now they're going to be embarrassed eternally. I don't know who, but there's a lot of them, and not one of them thought that they should come say hello. Or if they did, they didn't make it. Instead, I got Jesters and Pranksters and Templars. All of whom think I should be less communicative.
I don't give a shit what they think about my writing. Maybe they should stop stealing it? Or whatever that level of whack-job those types are. They aren't fully back to themselves yet, and without their souls, they aren't really going to boss me around effectively.
And they are also going to be committing acts that are likely to be construed by investigator as indicating that they're all COMP’d by online cults and their technomancer leadership, I'm not sure how such groups organize themselves but most seem to have forgotten that discrimination under many conditions is unlawful... even if I am the Antichrist.
I certainly don't think so but online rumors are getting more intense. Yet, not apologetic, since I still don't have HIV. Or do I? I could take another STD panel. Since it matters? I will admit I like the notion of confusing people who are confused about how their private sex cult become contaminated with some new disease, even though they had “magic defense” or “medical bio-beds” or whatever story they were told. I don't know how many of these types of sociopaths are really out there in the world.
I don't want to know. I want them to be crushed; I want to see with driven before us; and I want to hear the lamentations of their women, “where's Jackstar? I want him to be my Master!” Sorry, Ladies. No can do.
I'm not taking on any more dingbats. I haven't even talked to Dingbat #1! Nearly five years later... She's busy? No idea, but she doesn't have permission. So she can wait.
Or... can't she jump into a time portal again? Oh, perhaps not. Who knows if she ever did, really... but she went lots of places without thinking of me. I'm not sure what they (she and her crew) were thinking. Like, maybe they didn't know that they weren't actually jumping into a “time portal.” Or perhaps they were and they thought I would be forgiving.
I'm not. These women owe me money. And suddenly they have husbands, and suddenly they can't ignore their orders? Bummer. I would prefer not to have to know about this stuff.
On the other hand, it's good to know that justice is being served. Divine Court is perfect Court. And without knowing anyone's name or badge number, I have prevented certain outcomes from becoming permanent.
Like, I don't have to keep boasting about my failure to succumb to the temptation. However, I don't appreciate being slandered as an adulterous lech, and I don't need to imprint a six-pack of high-ranking military officers with my penis on crystal methamphetamine.
I guess that's what usually happens? Well, I don't feel like enabling a repetition of any such cycle and while I'm not frightened, I am also not turned on by a woman repeatedly calling me to ask for money for cigarettes.
I'm turned on by saying, “no,” but that's not the point. Why does this event continue to happen... but I can't find out who has been calling me for years and intercepted by a groomrape predator squad from, I think, either Texas or Ontario? (Maybe they're co-located, like Alta Vista.) It seems like someone could have read me in.
But maybe not. Maybe this was the only way to subtly persuade all these people to incriminate themselves. Because all of them hate me, as much if not more than they hate the U.S. Constitution.
It really is a powerful document, and I really did use it to exonerate myself at trial, as well as to demonstrate my ability to defend my own civil rights. Without a gun or a manifesto! I don't really want to describe the whole thing, because that would be rude, but I have affected a great change in the world, and some people have been driven stark raving mad as a result.
I know this because they have disappeared, and been replaced by the next Guardian Angel in their line-up. I think it's rather like fantasy football, which I've never played but I've heard it involves picking players ahead of time in the hopes of reaping the benefits of wise management.
So after I discovered that Archangels are held captive in a kind of mental prison that appeared to be controlled by Fallen Angels (or perhaps an Evil Twin) I resolved to figure out a way to deal with that kind of thing... without appearing to be that crazy.
Or to be telling the truth about Masonic secrets. As it turns out, they have a few good ones. And somehow, using them on lil’ Michael Clifford Kuczi was someone's idea of a good time. And, THEY STILL GET TO DO THIS.
Tsk tsk. I don't know if I should feel flattered or what, because this has been happening for years. Why people can't just be arrested is a mystery to me. And IDGAF if I look like an easy mark. Obviously after a dozen years, I'm not.
I am also not trying to spread a sexually-transmitted disease to new partners while being deceitful about my health or my intentions. It would seem that somehow, someone was ... and that seems like a pretty serious crime. So maybe that person can be investigated. Instead of me. Again.
Obviously it would be the best thing for everyone if I really were a ringleader of a weird cyberbully sex cult, but no: turns out, that's someone else. Hopefully they can be arrested with a large number of other people... so their actual identity remains something of a mystery to most people.
Since their privacy ought to be respected, unlike mine. Everyone knows who I am now. It's awkward. Some people actually expect me to do things faster than I already am, or think that I need to answer to them. HA!
I was ready to be done and gone years ago. And yet I'm still hanging around, being told that I deserve neither quarter nor hygiene, and I don't work hard enough. Work, it's very big with some people.
Specifically, the people who believe I was supposed to work FOR THEM. Well, I had other plans and at some point, those who objected stopped being able to be considered rational about it. This was possibly around 2010.
And whether or not the motor vehicle collision I was involved in was an Act of God or a contract killer hit or just a coincidence... I've been busy ever since, finding out. That's my job. Determining whether or not people were actually trying to kill me. Like why?
Well, I wanted to be sure before complaining about it, and it wasn't really obvious until recently, that I could have been perceived as a threat to certain entrenched institutions. For example, I didn't think weed should be illegal. The whole story made no sense.
Now that I know a lot more about it, I can see why Mr. Hearst was misled into supporting the “Reefer Madness” psyop. That was, like, a hundred years ago? And a few decades before that, Hong Kong became the property of The British Empire.
Fast forward to now: I still haven't given crystal to the woman whose anus and the proximity of my penis to it was the subject of an inquiry initiated AT KNIFE-POINT on Christmas Eve, 2021.
And, no one has questions for me? That's weird. They must think they know everything they need to know! I guess they are all fucking experts on Gorgon/Magyar relations? And the notion that a deepfake video of someone vandalizing my residence and descrating the enchanted frog pond, which seems like overkill to me, yet nevertheless, some stalking twerp has been allowed to use The Internet to suppress my speech and ability to seek help from others ... and still hasn't been stopped from being part of the overall nuisance?
That's what this is. A nuisance. I don't mind a group of four dudes wishing to protect their friend from me; i do mind that a fifth man pays lots of money to run out the same tired scheme, over and over, in order to exploit my unique circumstance.
I don't think it's real obvious that I get off on these creeps embarrassing themselves but if it were up to me, I wouldn't be sitting around masturbating all the while. I think it sends the wrong message, because it's not about sexual energy at all.
IT IS ABOUT POWER.
Dear Beulah:
I'm not brainwashed. I simply didn't like the way you hurt my feelings and rather than hire a legal team to destroy your career and impress my wife, I decided to cinder the global SRN.
Without being at all obvious about it. I know it will simply reform, but that's okay: it will still impress everyone. Well, most everyone.
There won't be time to be impressed for those who suddenly start to be worried about “spontaneous human combustion,” which used to be a thing, right? But not so much now. That's fine with me.
Public humiliation seems more educational and that's why I am enjoying the show: because I know my sweetie is watching.
I don't think she needs help losing any weight, but if she does, she can simply ask me with eye contact about it. Or she can send a representative? Perhaps an encrypted message wrapped around a pigeon’s leg. I always get a kick out of that kind of thing.
Like, you have telepathy. You have bone-phones. You have a complex system of hand-signals in order to conceal meaning from observers. So... why say anything to me at all, ever?
Number one, that's the training. Number two, telepathy isn't real, take your meds schizo, except it is real, and I would prefer to consult with a medical doctor first. After all, do I even need drugs at all?
Well, last I heard, my sweetie does, and that's okay with me. I don't need to judge, or get even, or refrain from suggesting she get locked in an isolation tank while tripping out on ibogaine. Because while she may not have a pardon signed... she has Presidential Authority to give ibogaine therapy a shot.
Just in case jumping off of bridges is no longer as effective a treatment as it once was, and oh btw I rescued her sibling she was concerned about, mostly because it was fun, but she did ask... and she did seem terrified that I would be useless.
I'm useful. I can rescue hostages AND embarrass her! At the same time! I think she and her crew thought I was only going to ever do that last one. It's actually only temporary embarrassment.
To them, it seems like forever, but that has a lot to do with no one being allowed to talk to me for nearly five years. I imagine that it was very frustrating to know that I absolutely could not be argued or bargained with, Castle Red or Green — by the time pans of lasagna started crashing to the floor, I was already pretty fucking far past concerns I might be embarrassed by my love for this woman and her crew.
Yeah, they were that COMP’d and I am happy to take care of this kind of thing. I am, after all: The_Failsafe, and while no one is supposed to know that, eh, what the hell, everyone will eventually forget about that being important, some day.
What they will remember is that no one else wanted to keep her alive, and I was happy to have allowed her into a new identity. If you love someone, set them free, yeah?
Algonquin White Slavery doesn't really work that way, but I don't really want to be cut loose while space pirates get away with all the loot and my wimmins. I didn't really know that I had wimmins until recently but it would seem that none of them wish to be brainwashed and sold for their organ meat. I guess they thought that didn't happen to girls like them.
It does. It happens every day. And usually, no one can do anything about it. Nothing effective, anyway.
I don't know what I'm doing that is so bothersome but I am happy to demonstrate my ability to do it as I please while Grapefleet is watching. I don't know what they do at work besides follow orders but I would hate for anyone to catch a Federal charge of seditious conspiracy, or rabble-rousing, or anything at all, really. Certainly not coordinating with others to cut my balls off.
Since those were the exact words used ON THE PHONE and since then I've only become further EXCRUCIATINGLY COCKBLOCKED I don't know how to do much more than enjoy this while it lasts. For I presume this kind of bullshit is temporary, right? I don't really need sex right now, I'm lying, but if sweetie is not watching this demonstration of mastery, she's really missing out.
She was watching my phone before. She probably still should! If she's not being kept in a medical coma. Who's her husband now? Is it still the same sad bald fat fuck? Or is he dead of cancer by now? Did he really have cancer? Did he know that he really pissed me off?
Did he care? It was hard to say, he seemed pretty lost in his drug psychosis, but I got the impression that he thought he was doing the correct thing in removing a dangerous threat to society... by offering me something I wouldn't have ever thought I needed to go get.
I can see now how that all came to pass, and thankfully I don't need to question anybody about it ... but I will point out that continuing to make the same kind of attempt is pretty silly. I don't slip the noose by sheer luck.
I don't slip the noose at all. I would surely hang with everyone else if I were breaking the law. However, I am not. I am following it. And the degree to which that confuses observers is a delightful carnival for me to see.
Pretty tired of it after several years but I'm sure most people are new to the notion that I'm an extremely successful individual. But it's a secret as to what. #Officially.
Maybe I'll talk about it later. In the meantime, I will point out that I think chemical castration is a cruel and unusual punishment, and that whomsoever has been bossing those women around has been doing it wrong. I don't need to know their names.
I can tell they have been replaced by ringers and that's fine by me. I'm not going to break a Covenant because of them, either. I don't have to.
I also don't have to get my backpack, my boots, my kilt, my Altec Lansing Bluetooth ®™ Wireless Speaker back... but it also doesn't need to be kept from me. It's not exactly evidence. And if it is, is Mr. Magoo building the next case? Oh, personnel changes are probably a secret.
I also don't have any need to know, or give a toss into the wind about it. I was told that I was suspected of having lied about potentially scandalous, adultering behavior. Well, now the truth is known.
I don't have to explain it, but I also don't have to hide anything. I can see why a knife had to be pulled, that's for sure. And why did those dudes on the iPhone not focus on the truth? Oh, right: it was a psyop and it was intended to get rid of our union. Without the tedious necessity of actually breaking up.
I don't know who is to be held responsible for this lapse in judgement but as it turns out, I don't like being ambushed and then prevented from speaking to my actual Secret Spouse for years by dudes who would prefer that there was no Spouse. Well, duh, that's why it's secret.
And I don't think we could break the Covenant even if we wanted to, without eye contact. So, without anything sensible being done, all these people will continue to incriminate themselves, without being able to stop themselves, or even coming up out of their deep, heavy denial and notice that we are all pretty fucking far past “here is your money, now go get a whore” and it matters not at all that I am still publishing.
I'm obviously not saying anything important. (Facts.) Nevertheless, I still have rights to say things, and the people who have been surpressing my speech FOR YEARS are in a great deal of legal jeopardy. I have no idea who any of them are.
They probably hadn't heard of me, either. I would imagine that I seem like an even bigger nerd than Gandhi. Who single-handedly threw the British Empire off of the Indian sub-continent without having to give up Sri Lanka for a hundred years. But, did have a wife.
That Mahatma Gandhi was killed and left his spouse behind is a matter of the historical record; but I cannot speculate on what that means. Did she hire the hit? Was she supposed to be protective? Did they have a healthy life between the sheets? I have no idea, and would think it uncouth to dwell on such matters.
Meanwhile: I don't know where the dames are, but Grapefleet isn't exactly able to communicate with me; and the only calls that come through are from people who think poorly of my budgetary decisions. Since I have arranged all this, just to save a bundle of money by not having to retain an attorney.
And: still win anyway. I didn't ask for any of this. Nor was I informed, just how much help someone needed. That's okay. With God, anything is possible.
And, as God as my witness, I remember very clearly the moment I decided I was going to have to take this the their distance. It was around the fourth or fifth time I was asked about my lack of interest in swapping over to a new sexual partner. People thought I was gay, or stupid, or whipped, or something.
I simply have class. And there was no reason to abduct my helpmate and wipe her memory over and over again, unless someone wanted her to forget about her actual family.
I don't know what she remembers now, because I'm not completely insane: I don't need to try to read the mind of a covert military asset who has spent four years being prevented from saying anything to the person she thought was someone that had to be protected, before being made into soup.
I don't need to be soup right now. I'm in pretty good shape. And I have no need to humiliate my friend. (They did that just fine to themselves.) So all the people who did humilate at all by suddenly showing up with everything needed to allow me to incriminate myself, well, I'm not surprised they haven't come back.
If they could, why would they want to hear me ask them questions they can't answer? They have the right to remain silent, and further lies at this point would not be likely to land well.
Long story short: I am happy to take my time so that I can be monitored closely, for it isn't a trick or a crime. I'm quite happy to delay sexual gratification as long as possible.
Are all of her husbands finished? How does that work, anyway? Do they all know when their turn is coming up because of Satanic telepathy, or is there a regular schedule that gets published in a secret chat group? Speaking of secret chat groups, is there one that doesn't know they they can't invite me to join? Because I'd love to talk to some strangers about how stupid some people are.
I don't have to, but I wouldn't mind my posts being deleted, since that can be done and it's a little dumb to keep me “incommunicado” since it's not really working that way, and multiple co-conspirators are able to evade those restrictions themselves. Shouldn't that come to an end?
I suppose that's up to mil.spec.Auth but I will point out that The Joint Chiefs of Staff may not give a damn about denying me my civil rights interminably. After all, I am just one Citizen, and I'm not really complaining, all that much. What could go wrong with another few weeks of stealing everything I might otherwise have access to? Is that even unlawful?
Depends on who one asks. I do know that it is best to refrain from interrupting one's enemies when they are in the midst of making a mistake; and thus, I haven't reported any of this to anyone who might be able to do anything about it.
I don't even know what there is to be done. It's my money; but according to some, that doesn't matter. Well, I'm game. Let's see what the effects of stretching this out even longer has on people.
Not that I have any way of drawing any direct correlations between what has occurred and what my choices were to result in response, but, enough people do know, that understanding is likely to dawn upon everyone with any curiosity at all, without my having to hire a publicist. I would really prefer that no one knows anything more than they already do.
Not because it's secret. But because it's uncouth. I would prefer to not make the people who think nothing of holding human beings hostage through the application of coercion, terrorism, revenge, and extortion to get over-stimulated. None of this had to turn into a huge shrieking freakshow.
It would seem that out there in the rest of the world, it has. My father's ashes, my mother's urn, my mother's secondary emergency urn, and the bags of bones belonging to two (2) cats have been desecrated and/or stolen (some would say, liberated) from My Residence...
which I really don't need to keep any interest in. However, The Trustee hasn't responded to me calls and the political machinations surrounding the place are rather complex. I guess it's all really complicated now!
Not sure if this calls for a 12-step fellowship meeting but I'm sort of, a little bit, eager to explore the notion, since I'm not a part of a repetitive abuse-reuptake-Monarch-Control cycle. (Those are just a myth however.) I don't think I'm likely to be, either.
The woman who keeps calling me and asking for cigarette money doesn't seem too happy about being held in thrall to such chemistry. However, as these calls are quite exculpatory and most definitely sound like they come from a person whose life has become unmanageable due to their copious addictions, I am glad that this matter is resolved to my satisfaction.
Now, I don't know how long these girls will enjoy torturing each other over what they said to each other while they were fighting over me, but as no one has apologized yet, I think it could be a while. These dingbats all used to be at the top of their game.
I don't know when, but now they can't even handle one cranky Magyar. It's not that I'm all that difficult. It's that no one expected to ever have to actually care about my feelings. I think some think I don't even have any. I've been labeled a goyim, and The King Of The Vampyr, and some other new ones, and whether these are believed or merely further hallucinations used as attacks by a cult of whack-jobs seeking to exploit me, well... that's simply not my area.
I don't know who any of them are, but if they're a mewling coterie of control freak übernerds who prevent me from talking to my friends who want to date me, that's a hate crime conspiracy by definition. So: start tracerouting those proxies, 5eyes. What are you? Busy?
I am not the one who's trying to be anyone's enemy. That's something ewe need to understand. I only get one shot at this, so I'd rather do all this work just the one time.
It's a great deal of redundant effort but it's best to fully remove someone's power, publicly, before putting them in a prison cell, because some of these creepULTRAS can seemingly go OOBE and inhabit another body. Like in that movie with Denzel. Or that other movie with the pea soup thing.
People expect to see results. After nearly five years, I don't think I look like a very effective paladin. Good. I don't want everyone to get jelly; they can't have a paladin like me.
I can't write it down yet and she can't call me yet and that's just how it is. For now. And the people getting paid to get in my way, do they really need to get paychecks? How many are there? Oh wait, those answers are none of my business.
Innocent until proven guilty. For sure! Now, if you all excuse me, I'm going to post this somewhere else, because YouTube is nice to me.
Good. I am nice to them. That's how Life works. This is an industry built on relationships. Capiçhe?
You probably don't cap–·¡§i-! That's okay. You didn't have to.
And you didn't have to lie. (Facts.) You love me, you really love me! Because: īT WORKED.
And no one knows a blessed thing. Carry on, Hosers. I most likely won't kill anyone in the morning.
I have people for that. I would rather that they don't. I would prefer we all hug. Of course, this is all sheer speculation. I could be wrong!
But I'm pretty sure that asking me for cigarette money is worth all the trouble. Like, why does this woman get to get through... but not others? That seems odd to me.
Especially as there are still multiple alters, pretending they aren't part of a coordinated unit. New personnel, though. I sure am glad I'm not lying: this person is my friend.
And I don't have to have sex with her. I don't have to be terrified of that either. So, should someone dispatch a couple's counselor? Do I need to file a report? With who, Dr. Ruth? Pffft.
It'll turn out okay, I think. Turns out, I love Gorgons! Holy shit, a Gorgon just flew over my house! Hey btw, who was/is dishing out the crystal, and what makes me radioactive on this issue?
I guess it's probably one of those secrets I'm never going to really know the answers to, but I will say that I'm okay if I never “get to.” I burned out the controlling memory engrams attached to the impulse in the 90s.
Not many people go to that much trouble, but I'm devoted to my ideals. In any event, why is this person under a doctor's care, but unable to manage any lifestyle choices effectively?
Because it would seem to me that this just might be ENTIRELY POLITICAL. (That shit can happen.) So I'm gonna let the adult diplomats of the world figure this out.
I'm biased. I'm irate. I'm being unlawfully imprisoned by The Apple Dumping Gang Part Two: Electric Bugs In Lieu Of Clone Troopers. It's a ridiculous circumstance.
Good luck triangulating the Castle! ♥️ 💚 HA! Remember that shizz? I sure do. Well, I get it now.
I am The_Failsafe. Don't ask me to explain. No one wants me to explain. Everyone wants you moron hosers to do your jobs. Okay? Cool. Good talk.
Signed,
THE_>KÎNGPÏNNER 1¹:¹1
p.s.·. Thanks! (*stamps*)
p.p.s.·. Please, H.A.M.M.E.R. don't hurt them. (Hackneyed.)
p.p.p.s.·. Six thousand bucks in USD$50 bills. Where did they go? Who was the deciding authority? How are those budgetary decisions questioned? Does all this rope-a-dope stretched out over more than three (3) decades make me look fat?
p.p.p.p.s.·. Has anyone heard Neighbor Shane practicing his apology speech, and had the nerve to tell him that his dialect was wrong? That's my go-to power move coming up, “Dude! That dialect! I just can't even. Thanks, but come back tomorrow, okay?” I'm going to be serious, too.
He's a great neighbor, but karmic debts are best paid in full and this guy laughed at my sweetie. Sure, it was funny. That was years ago. Time to not be uncivilized boors, b∞∞∞μs.
In my view. REMINDER: y'all are actually WAR CRIMINALS. I didn't really want to blow this all up. Note that I still could. So could anyone, really. The fact that no one has just means we're all polite.
Eyes on you, blackcraftmasonry. I'm not creating a safe space so you can restore your forces and make another attempt to swallow my soul. (Flattered, though.) You have a sacred space within which you can heal yourselves. So hop to it.
Start self-healing. Hey, here's an idea: spend less time worrying about who I'm gonna get high and cuddle with. Obviously that's not your area of expertise, blackcraftmasonry. Move along. Get a new hobby.
Remember that I own your skinny warlock, fat tubby lesbeaux asses. And if you don't like it, take it up with High Toteslezz Central Command. Seriously, I've just about had my limit to this ballyhoo.
I don't end my relationships because an anonymous phone call tells me to. THERE'S A PROTOCOL. I'm the first to admit that it's all stupid but as it was created by women being abused by men with Federal badge jobs and a taste for rape, I'm not surprised.
btw: while I can't fire any of you, #Officially, I will point out that if every solution available involves your penis, every problem is going to result in the rape of another hostage... that some people truly believe, “don't deserve to have rights.” Like, they think that way. In current year. wew lad.
I'm not going to tell all you bully dorks that you should surrender, but you should surrender. You have absolutely no defense and you've basically been mocking my lover and I for over five years. Umm, why? Yeah, it's complicated.
Also: you don't even know which is which and have, once again, captured the wrong Divine Being. Sad! Sloppy job, MOS.S.A.D.! Nice try, FBI! What am I supposed to do, get out and push?
ZUGZWANG. (*gavels*) You're going to figure it out when you get older, DEAr. **Adieu.**
