#1) it's a metaphor. It's not something you need to get all hot and bothered over.
#2) My ergegore does not answer to you, and neither do I.
#3) I want my wimmins, and I want to have the option to brand them as you all have with your MethD!≤‽ technology, for only in that way does it mean so much when I gently decline to commit an aggressive sexual assault against someone who has, in fact, already heard of me.
#4) Whomever The Dark Lord is, he sure did leave a lot of needles lying around. Cute. Since I'm a needle junkie? Except now proven not to be. Thus, The Dark Lord is both invisible and needle dependent.
#5) And as it is not I, I have decided to find him, and scalp him, and take all his wimmins as my own.
#6) Any member of Grapefleet can change my mind. They just have to use eye contact when doing it, and they're all busy. At WORK.
#7) Meanwhile, I'm doing somerhing else that no one suspects. It's personal. It's confidential. And yes, it's very effective.
#8) And with The Dark Lord's loathsome coterie of mewling sycophants are distracted by all this bullshit, other professionals are handling the cases of other, more low-hanging miscreants.
They have their jobs. I have mine. My friend lost hers. She used to be thought of as someone to be unleashed upon me. I undersrand she is quite fearsome.
Yet, but not to me. I still haven't had sex with her in the pooper; I still haven't given her drugs; I still don't know what she thought was going to happen; and obviously there was no affair. No cheating.
One super embarrassed military. Look, it's real simple: no one is happy about this.
Except: my friend and I. We are now happy about other things. We share a survivors’ bond. Grapefruit has something else.
Like, a still-living mother and work to do. And, yes REALLY, it's real simple.
I demand the knowledge, and I still haven't had anything get to happen yet. Nearly five years. How could that be? I'll tell you how: these dingbats are top-tier talent.
For us, it is necessary work that takes first and center priority. Because Mission. Of course I'd rather be having fun. However, I do enjoy a conclusive demonstration of Mastery.
One way or another, I'm going to explore what has been forbidden. I don't even know why. That's forbidden too? Damn. How can I say nay to any of this?
Without a phone or any way of scheduled meetings, I can't. I just sort of have to go along with what is decided. Sometimes, I must obey the whims of the hive mind.
That way it means more when I do whatever the fuck I want. Like I'm not saving Private Ryan here. I wanna get away from this Superfund hazmat nightmare zone. It's like Amityville, but far more tolerable.
And it's cursed. And cyberstalked. And under siege. It's very exciting stuff for me. Less so for others.
“I wish I could just punch you in the face.” Yeah? Okay, arousal terminated. Not that I really wanted to keep making my wife infuriated, but, if I had to concern myself, I would find out how many husbands were left.
Mr. K: “Who is the dark Lord in question?” are you for real? You're all pretty dark. And you've succeeded in really hurting my feelings and letting a woman be abused for basically nothing extra.
I guess she should say goodbye to them. They might be in custody already. Chained to some round table like they're ready for MacReady to test their blood. I don't know. IDGAF.
I love them. I don't coddle them. And I banished them to another planar dimension when I found out that they didn't know how to utilize my skills. I won't say why. It's sacred Tribal knowledge.
I will say that everyone is being punished. Tribal edicts can be harsh. And people were stupid. They're still mad at me, that's how stupid they were.
I honestly believed they knew the rules. Either they didn't, or succeeded in believing it was no big deal. IT IS A HUGE DEAL.
I wish I could tell you about it but I can't. Goodbye! (Just kidding.) I will point out that I am classier than Art Bell was about this. Also I'm a civilian.
I'll be a junkie for Palmolive©™, motherfuckers. You're soaking in it. How is everyone a teetotaler now? I guess after years of carefree abuse, some are surprised to know that my friends and I didn't like being exploited.
We have done something about it. And while it make look like insane behavior, that is because I wanted people to think I was struggling with temptation. I guess that's a very big deal for some people.
I have no struggle. I don't want sex from a baker's dozen lady cops. And they don't want to go to prison. Truthfully I don't care where they go.
They're working. They can't just be themselves. And none of them can arrest or seduce me or... understand normal thinking, I guess? That seems the idiom.
Normal thinking is that I am told people think I'm a cat killer. I am not. And for years, there's a question? Then someone kills my cat and boasta about it on the phone.
ON THE PHONE. It's vile. They think it's funny. It's not. She was a sweet kitty. Now she's much more cruel.
The Dark Lord always corrupts. Well, I'm tired of that. After four years... all this corruption and decay is because I needed to get a job and pay taxes and work out and... what? Sounds like a script.
Also, I was accused of being in denial about my mental health by a man who thought the thing to do was to yell at me on his front lawn in broad daylight in front of the neighbors lights I was his child and ordered to not do what I had never done. Weird.
COVID-19 changed a lot of things. Abusing my sensitive nature didn't really help any of them, except in one way: I am prepared to join the war effort. If I have to. It seems a waste of time to me.
But if that's what it takes to get this dame to unclench in the next five months, we'll see. I'm not getting any younger. It's almost showtime.
My friend deserves all the time in the world to savor the experience. Because this is happening. Nothing can stop what is coming. NOTHING.
Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned. And being stuck with someone who doesn't like her looks like a real drag. It's not, but we make it look good.
It's just easier to not have to bother getting all sticky. Additionally, people are freaking out because they are losing their meal tickets. I didn't know that was a thing. But DEA works in mysterious ways.
For example, they still seem to be shy. How silly. I'm obviously their friend. And when I start tapping all that edge trim, any day now, they'll be pleased to find me non-violent.
Whether they fire their employees or not. It's not really all that necessary, for me, because I'm not employed. But I think it's a bad business practice to overemphasize sex bondage in the workplace.
Now, I don't know who to file suit against but I left options open, and I'm pretty flexible. So, why heavy pressure is flowing down, and I don't even know who is still interested... it's just not a very effective psyop.
But: public money is still being paid for it and the last month has been nothing but embarrassing peacock strutting.
And: I'm quite clearly not breaking any law. Unless I agree that I am military property, like my friend has. She actually went to Basic. I never enlisted.
She's still used as bait and I'm still happy to watch this shitshow wind down. Holy Mother of God: they're in way over their heads and know not what they have done.
I wish I could talk to you but I can't. Goodbye. (Just kidding. I can talk. You just can't talk back.) I really can't publish anything juicy.
It wouldn't be polite or legal and I have nothing else to comment on. I guess people have questions? I bet.
We don't really have questions. We had a mission. I still do. I don't know what others are doing. Following orders, I guess.
Who’s that at the door in charge? That's a secret! Like where three (3) pans of lasagna came from? Alaska, Alabama, and Alli’s son was, uh...
Let's just move on. I don't want to explain why it's all awesome. Like having to explain a joke. It's not as funny! Like having to explain to me!
Since it's highly embarrassing that so many people are chemically dependent and can't handle facing life while I seem to be having a great time. I am. That's what following the law will get one.
Now, I am not on YouTube™ yukking it to because someone else is. Cool. I didn't need to be famous. I also didn't need to support a false narrative for the last five years.
I am not officially in the loop but I'm sure the Big Bad is identified. A real nasty one too. And I don't need to day anything at all. Not really.
But I can. I simply do not want to. I'd rather make love, not controversy. So.
Why can't we? The cover story is wearing thin. Someone... looks into this? Right? I would assume so.
WAKE UP, PUNYLING PRIMARY VICTIMS! Maybe this is all done soon. Maybe not. You get to know, and hide.
I get to know a cold heart inside my body where I should be warmed by cherishment. Temporarily. I also don't feel confused by wondering who did all this.
I know now. It's not really The Dark Lord. Yes. It's some... other Lord.
They can bully me, but I can't be not sober, huh. Weird. That seems like an optical illusion or some kind of display glitch or the car are in neutral rolls uphill or something.
I'll explain it all later but I can't now. That would be rude.
Also rude: using my frens as bait. I would have preferred to have used them as sex partners.
Someone else did. Is this important right now? 60,000 YEAR-OLD DEATH CULT ON VERGE OF TOPPLEMENT.
Imagine the afterglow. BIBLICAL. Now, however... I'd like to be impressed.
I'm not. I'm flattered. (The effects are comparable.) This is what one man can do.
gΩμ really aren't the same thing. Now, if that's all, fine, I'll be on my way.
To (blank). It's what adults used to do. Remember those? Yeah. I just had one tell me that I was mentally ill. (THEN MAYBE TRAFFICKING ME OVER THE PHONE ON CHRISTMAS 2023 WAS A BAD IDEA, UBERJOO. ALSO CONTINUING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF MY IGNORANCE, AND THEN TELLING ME THAT I'M MENTALLY ILL, WHILE HIDING A SECOND PERSON AND THEIR IDENTITY IN THE HOUSE, NOT REALLY A CRIME BUT I'M MENTALLY ILL TO MENTION THAT IT ISN'T WORKING WELL? THIS MALADAPTIVE COPING STRATEGY, THAT IS.
AND THE SOLUTION IS ALWAYS: get a job, give up on sex. Huh. A non-starter.
I'll let you all fill in the blanks. Suffice to say: “SNIPER!” has no targets. No one knows who knows anything anymore.
Good. That's the training. Hey, here's an idea: maybe it's not ⁴4uuuu to know. But everyone is an expert on who I should snuggle with. Huh.
LGBTQIA Collective, thank you for your concern and your attention to detail. Now go groom Dr. Doom’s children or something. I'm busy.
I'm going to infiltrate Slenderman’s fortress and breed his bloodline. In their sleep! It's just easier to be unexpected.
Because ewe never know. _Adieu._
P.S. Ellgab leadership is first against the wall when the revolution comes and no one ever knows the most sensitive of informations. This madness must stop somewhere.
P.P.S. “Tootsie died of cancer,” that's such a sad story, and so much like what I was told was happening to the child twice my age who had a switchblade in a closed fist, clenched in my stomach, because that's how the truth is obtained from an eight-year-old. Huh. I will say this: I roll with a pretty tough crowd.
As soon as Beetle Bæ-Lee and The Lightfingera Armada gets their act together, we can proceed. Until then, all y'all can polish my shiney. I do the best I can for everyone because I think that's civil.
You all just scrapped a house out from under me and thought you could do that easy. It was easy to irritate me, that's for sure. How is “tough love” part of the governance package? Courts will have proceedings, and Citizens will decide. Why was I blacklisted?
Because pimpin’ was easier before I got there. I guess. I didn't really know that this was all actual. I still don't know.
Take your time. It's been decades. Sean David Morton has time to shrug off that metabolic poison. Hey, here's an idea: tactics are related. This tracks back to the D A.R E. program. Hang on.
* Jackstar has freedoms you only ever thought you had, and now ewe can no more on.
It's just easier. To keep you all asleep. THEY LIVE.
EWWWW, SLEEP. Look, I'll be fine. Ask not how hard Jackstar can work for fiat currency.
Ask instead how hard your retirement is going to be. No one gets out alive. No one needed me dead.
Except for *gulp* and yeah, INCONVENIENT I AM SURE. Scoot over, bacon. This doesn't have to be all weird.
GOD WINS.
Arrest my dog! (Anything will do.) THIS IS ALL POLITICAL.
Which, to me, is sultry. I wish I could talk to you but I can't. Goodbye.
SIGNED,
JACKSTAR
P.S. MRS. DOUBTFIRE. That exists and I'm in a cycle of abuse that no one ever discusses with me, and a job will help. Huh. #Officially, you're all winding down.
P.S.S. I should do something else with my time. Yes. But you first.
P.P.P.S. and if any of you fucking pigs move, I'll execute every mother fucking last one ya. Just kidding. You are free to move all you like! Take My Residence, for example. (It is a wasteland of unfathomable filth and squalor.) I need to tidy up, is that it? Nope. It's just going to chill like this, and I'm going to visit the Winchester House for further instruction.
If anyone wants to take over, by all means: cough up the money. Until then, I am the tyrant you need, not the patsy you wanted. TA-DAH! Copyright Magick Castle LLC.
I don't even know where to begin the disappointments. Jewish political power now put on notice.
Should keep you busy while your bullet's batteries charge. TARBABY OUT
