Except I'm not an alcoholic—THIS IS ALL POLITICAL.
Word is spreading: I could give a shit about what any of you think. Bills left unpaid--permanently. Landscaping left run to ruin--Scheherazade hedgerows. Building maintenance and new construction--Neighbor wanted to run a 400 ft. hose to his foundation concrete pour, "oh please I need this over the weekend or I will be set a month back" and I would have run over there and kicked him right in the pussy. Instead, "call my mommy's lawyer," *click*.
You're all full of fucking shit. Endless excuses to cover your actual motions to deliberately cause some kind of destruction and the reason? Does it even matter? It's being done anyway. Part of a well-balanced breakfast. It's going to be better than Biblical, when I get to the pre-trial I am going to load out a VTOL and drop that shit on your fucking desk.
Literally a year locked in place so a bunch of faggots can feel superior to someone they lied to laughed at and fucked off because some other stalker faggot hurt their little fucking feelings... except damaged forever and of course it's too much fucking trouble to go get some goddam counseling. Sure, just leave a block on center square for killing every reward and smother every toddler in every swinging crib because that's what the fuck you all wanted at the time, and it's what you had before, and, why not? It's just some dork loser.
I found out more garbage bullshit and I would share it with anyone who actually had any interest in anything legitimate and none of you do. Boring, pathetic, dump the plate right there at the end of the salad bar. Why even bother? Oh, look, more liability.
You start off with agreements with a whole host of individuals like you always have since birth and then it fiddles around and envelops your experience tunnel with a buoyant cushion of friendship. Look around, say hello, good morning, look, it's coffee.
I've come to realize that your empty lives are just that. Lives. Oh, you got ones, alright, wake up and mention to everyone else as you see them that someone else is worth taking the time out to make up some fucking lie about another thing or another, and then someone will or will not mention how insightful one is to take note of how rock-hard your abs get when talking mad shit about someone for the 889th time in a day, gotta get the mark, gotta hit the target, do I even know? Well, I missed the round table. Just dump it and pick up another snack somewhere that looks good on a flyer. Like I just can't even. I've never been this happy with a simple imagination. But it can help a lot to remember that there was a time when this was a survival issue. Knights of the round table? I'll be honest: I have vanishing interest in the entire notion forevermore, largely because you're all boring and stupid in your issues, whatever the fuck they are, I really couldn't give a shit about the stupid fucking story you tell yourself about how you gotta make up a reason to be fucking flying around with a bunch of assholes who beat the shit out of the phone and fuck with your life for you and then they push around whatever some shithead tells you is the way things have to be. Oh, they know best.
The only reason you have such a thing is so you can fuck me off from it. An energetic charge results. You don't even know when it is or where it goes. It still lands and provides energy and lots of items a day, it adds up. I do what I can. I legit don't even think it even fucking matters. When has the last time been that I got a notification that was actually visible? holy fucking shit it is 2022 and my phone can't display notifications. It's FUCKING BROKEN. Can I fix it? Oh hell no. A gang of top-tier professional game coders can't figure out, it's too bad, "sorry you lost," just start a new one, what's the problem? Well, how about this: you're all disgusting cunt liars and at this point I would rather talk to the fucking toilet. Like wake the fuck up and notice that you're fucking done being a douchebag for now, it's been awhile, but you know what? Maybe change it up a little, try some spice. How about noticing that you're a fucking stalking victim and a fucked off coward who hasn't bothered to come to terms with anything you've ever done in your whole fucking life besides break my neck and call me a cab.
I can sigh rather a lot. You absolute shitheads have extremely impressed me--I care enough to notice that the messages that come up and sit on 7/11, like in the parking lot? I'd rather scrape up the loose gum and chew its fat than hold around and think about how great it would be if anything useful were to come up.
I have a persistent fantasy... a Masters degree actually increases something actually quantifiable as valuable. Well, I am sure it does. Having skipped that rat race, do I even notice? Actually no, this is the first time, I figured out, how to get a sentence structured such that it is pleasing to the eye and melodious to the ear.
I picked that broad for the throwaway restraining order because I knew she didn't have anywhere near any interest in sex than she did in sucking off a money tit--Grapefruit was whining with excruciating precision about some "secret lover" she thought I had--she was getting fucking vile about it, like holy shit, I'm not looking into anything, right? What the fuck, are you getting a radar doppler echo? Why the sudden fucking screeching? Probably something exclusive rubbing against something extraneous. Stay awhile, and listen: oh nevermind it's over on some other chalkboard that doesn't feature authors who don't lie about fucking everything, everytime, every long sentence adds up to a fucked up line of bullshit and anything strung together is for stringing along, or is strung out. (It's so hard to ever finish, why ever even begin? It's too much effort. Here: look at this cat (garrote). Oops, gotta run, I am reminded that I'm a dipshit mindslave who can't hold a stable thought for very long---because standards--and there it is, and there it's gone, now, back to lorem ipsus hey stop asking those weird questions, weirdo, like how can you stand it? Being so shallow? I can't even, oh, it's too hard to imagine, here, picture this: you're a lying asshole and whatever you said would fall into ashes and cannons anyway, so, call me maybe? Hang on I am gonna... no wait, never mind, the phone doesn't fucking work anyway. Maybe that other day when something more interesting makes it up on the leader board? Fuck it, I'm gonna just Hulk out the phone, holy Christ I bought the goddam thing seven months ago.
SEVEN MONTHS. "Working." You are a limp, finking milquetoast charlatan and your horse shit is beyond stacked up there. It isn't working because "mysteriously" the phones go dead when touching, the cat, and spider, and the wad of chewing gum stuck to the end. Must be a glitch. It's probably just a song. A coincidence.
It's like this: it's not like she's a fucking moron by accident, there's an energetic charge at play by getting on the omission and then charging the zap of accusation. Like, are you fucking stupid? Wait, what am I saying, you thought it would be a good idea to fucking nag me. I deliberately picked the most standoffish twat I could think of (of course, always a toteslesbo) and knew without a doubt, that there's no fuckin' way any of these feelings are reciprocated. NO FUCKING WAY. And.. .they weren't!
A few texts at 1:30 in the morning, read the foreign mind a little, some spatial deduction, oh, let's go off to the races and speculate. Yeah, she wanted a new baby daddy to keep her womb comfy with showers of currency, because the old one wanted her to not smoke weed while pregnant. I mean, what a beta sissy bitch, but, whatever, it wasn't my baby, why would I judge?
Oh, because she was a teenage runaway with a sad, sad story. So sad. You can imagine how this went: 420 BLAZE IT, MOTHER SUPERIOR. I figured it was a great way to save on condoms, and naturally after birth, a great way to save on birthday cards, because I didn't give a rat's ass for some dude's kid other than to ensure that -someone- got the message to trot her fat, thumpin' ass back to her fuckin' baby daddy. Like, what the fucking fuck, right? (She gave me a wrist bracelet that said "DAD" on it and I thought I'd go to the casino and bet a hard nineteen.) Is this smokeshow still this fucking mental? Well, about an hour's worth of texts at 0130 am and we found out... ah, nothing.
I go to sleep and forget by morning. No texts back. Why? Once again, didn't like penis enough to be nice to it anyway. (Typical.) Why now? Oh, Grapefruit has an insecure feeling and -demands- fidelity to be demonstrated? Okay, here we go, here's a goddam no contact order with some ditzy broad who would rather marry someone--I mean, why not, there's benefits, right? Like, I get to sneer at your bullshit life choices, smoke some fucking weed it's 420 BLAZE IT oh wait never mind I have to qualify for being a handout fund baby--than do... well, I don't know. Why do people even get married? Fucking Christ, I was already married to her before GF started whining about it, and that was only because some fag swindled her into believing it mattered.
Oh, right, a wedding ring and necklace and what difference does it make? Just wipe it on a dishtowel. There's no plus of interest in here, it's a synthetic lie, say whatever I'll be looking at some rocks or something, will I even notice when the sun comes up? Notice that I am falling into a tub of boredom just remembering how fucked off I was and how many tires that was when I blew the on-ramp off the 5.
Thankfully I know this lack of content is going to make it alright. I don't need to make any content with anyone? Like when? You know what, just write it off, it's probably just a phase I am going through? It's quite a phase. Here's an idea: I will take care of my own shit as well as yours because none of you can figure out what today might mean for one's bottom line if someone were to actually get identified and placed into a survey pod.
Pathetic, actively loathsome, and relentlessly low-vibe. It can be assumed that the phone modification is 100% responsible and it means nothing to either that the line actually functions--what the point would be of that much legitmacy paid to a wrong number is a matter for some discussion, but how someone has to get to this point to figure out, "hey, wait a second, what time is it in the hallway corridor?"
Oh, hey, one more thing: if you don't care for what I've done with the telemetry at my disposal, you could have been something other than ignorant, standoff-ish, deceitful, asinine, and boorish. If being exposed for douchebaggery is a problem for anyone, it would perhaps be an ideal maneuver to not be such an arrogant self-absorbed bastard. Thankfully, I don't remember very much about what most of you had to say when I remembered to write it down, and for the most part, I am pretty much all speculation.
Hey Brainiac, you're probably not being relentlessly haunted by a dark spirit that rewires your phone, because let's face it, you're not really all that important to anyone except to that creepy pedophile needle junky, and while I don't know how to reinstall a malfunctioning .apk, I do know how to just not bother imagining things and examine the software at the director's level:
Running a cleaning program. Which reminds me: if the surroundings being ultra-cluttered is of a concern to anyone, consider the following... it's keeping the riff-raff at bay as well as ensuring the early detection of shallow, vapid whoremongers with every intention of being a fucked-off mess no matter what happens. It feels like an easy challenge to me, because it is--come on man, you can move on in and take my garbage out for me in the truck that needs maintenance somewhere I can walk back alone from and not really be in any hurry to look into getting done.
Last night I became inspired to reveal the hidden merits of my solution that I've implemented here: every decision has been chosen with an eye towards embarrassing the shit out of the people involved here, in that without any explanation, one wonders what the problem is with going somewhere, what, doesn't the truck work? Well, actually, no, it doesn't.
Also, I don't work either and neither does the drug use; tolerance and all. Nevertheless I am committed to displaying the illusion of being a worthless, drug-addled mess, so that I will get credit for time served when one of these oh-so-clever judges decides to ask about the subject. (First words: "Judge, standards.") Because, it's going to come up. I've been practicing for this speech my entire life. I will almost certainly nail it the first time.
Speaking of which: no. You know what? There is no sympathy where there is no understanding, and what good would it do, to stop doing something that I am not even doing? So a circumstance of authentic nightmare has been called for, and will be investigated upon, and, omfg, I cannot fuckin' wait. It must be off the goddam charts by now. I am gonna explain it all so clear: "well, it was a good deal, just not for her, not for him, and not until after I took a nap for three days when someone thought she was gonna explain what was going on with a pair of glass sheet pans and a lasagna torch." So I am pretty sure that there is going to be a banner hanging behind me as well.
Now that I have made a polite time of frame available for input, I am now prepared to cast trumpets wide. "Hey, what happened?"
"She was so busy reading my email that she didn't notice that I had also been writing to a second one-sided conversation duplex into the datastream, or maybe she did, I don't know... since she's still too pissed to recognize the value of a recognizable gerund."
Okay, I won't say that. I'll probably start with CHECKMATE: "I'm an elephant in a padded room, and my mouth is too dry to speak." Truth be told I essentially knew from the beginning that you'd be so relentlessly self-absorbed that you wouldn't be able to talk to anyone but yourself.
