CHECKMATE, QTs. Bye!
This is not a game to me, but that doesn't mean that my commanding knowledge of the science of game theory isn't wholly useful in navigating the battle space that you've been whining about while dragging it and your boorish, uncouth, Alamo-obssessed gestalt all around the place around here. Like, I get it: you're not used to be stymied in your activity plans.
Nevertheless. Note the pattern: I am invincible. *gulp* Well, I did find it hard to believe that I was really --this-- smart, so... anyway, Divine Shielding. Also, your trinket is here, hers is still disassembled, that transparent coffin is a sensible message now, and... what? You know I really am a vastly experienced and creative-oriented intellgence analyst, right?
And, look at you--you're an out-of-plumb plumber. I mean, okay Mario--admittedly cool. And sure, you imagine I am -lazy.- Yes, that's right, I'm so lazy that I steadily built a solid foundation in preparation for exactly this event to occur in the future, as I knew it one day must... without hope or expectation of being paid. At all. Ever.
Lazy. What do you think this word means? I can tell already, you're simply misapplying it to me. I work basically non-stop these days. Hi, workaholic. Where is the "lazy" seen? I'm not mowing the lawn because I don't want to due something productive, it's simply... not a productive activity. For me. If it produces for you, you fucking mow it. Massive rolleyes. As if I have to automatically absorb everyone's value system. Pfftt. Dumb personal responsibility. Stupid visionary intellect. Dipshit unbeatable warspace strategy flawlessly implemented through authentic application of Divine Authority. Sure, okay, lazy for you.
For me, well, literally using false and defamatory statements routinely, thoughtlessly, and remorselessly against anyone and expecting any else a massive pushback of karmic energy, somehow, one day... like what the actual fuck.
I have nothing to do all day except figure out what the fuck has been happening. It's not impossible to analyze, it's quite difficult in fact. So, clearly a lazy person would have not done that. Or am I too lazy to figure out something -other- than what I find fascinating to do? Help me out here.
Oh, right, bound by some arcane contract law or legit unwanted consequence if Christmas presents are opened early... oh, well, that makes sense. It didn't make sense that since everyone here does exactly what I do now, except they all started -way- earlier, there was any reason to expect slander to do anything useful... not at all.
I asked to be "read in." Was it complicated? It's simpler now. Explain to me what it is thought that I am going to be destined into being guided into? Because none of the suggestions I've heard have been palatable to me.
What's more, someone might have thought to ask my opinion.
"Man proposes, G-d disposes."
"You'll never have another girlfriend again."
"I'm going to use mind-control drugs on everyone you have ever loved and while they will think they're loving it for real, it's a simple chemical weapon to warp a human mind and subvert free-will."
"You don't deserve anything you have and all of us are going to take from you and watch you cry because we can't possibly let you pretend to be Aaron Carter's mysterious twin brother."
"He won't figure it out--and he injects anything."
"It's perfectly reasonable to deliberately assassinate a Hungarian loner's character because there's no reason for him to be in Seattle or not dead."
Look, listen. Let me help you:
all of this is destined to fail. Here's why: someone ruined it for everybody by choosing to take my destiny and turn it to a disposal. I won't point fingers. I know not who is so obsessed with eradicating my success.
How about this: Get thee behind, Satan. And, *push.* It's come to shove, yo. Someone ought to have never assailed against us all, and as I duck out--I am that Last Exit Pretty--and we are mostly all not coming back. This doesn't work. I've no interest in ripping through a sack of ducks because they sound cool when their cloacae explode, and the assertion I make with my very rythym of breathe, that I produce a liquid wave of text... you know, the denigration is pointless. We running out of white space? You think there's a limit max for vowels? I'm just blind out of my mind with your shit, pal.
I'm going to tell you The Plan: 24/7 surveillance for a goddam year. for what? Source error code tracking. It's not super important, but it's also not useless, and it is so true, when you yourself don't like something, no one has any interest of opinion, and I don't like the fact that I don't know who you are, could be 3, 5? well, one, sure. I sort of remember the first time, "why is this person so excited to be recognizable and acting what a cranky ditchkilling fart thing to do it is that they can't tell it is me?"
Since then it's gone nowhere but filthy and flatline. My most vivid: "YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY!!!" My hand to G-d. What could I have -ever- have done to anyone? Maybe if I killed the cat. I did not. The story about the bird on the toast in the bush. "OMG, that's terrible... that didn't sound like a joke!"
Cockslavedope and Twatproffersalt can have a mild or a bang-on-my-shield effect. I know I don't know how to find the formula, or even to know to follow it, of course. That's why I'm not in a braincase vise. Duh. Let's say someone knew all that, and had the time to make the mix---then, 3 gallons of "every boy gets blown lunchtime blues" milk-flavor milk additive... then dribble it at the IKEA buffet salad bar. Spray bottle. Penis spray gargle. I cannot. You probably can't either.
Because one more incident, and you're probably benched over a bench and getting the totescup 52-pickup. When have you had integrity? No one knows. (You can have the rest of what's left of hers. To wipe.) What was gained for a lot of us is at least... something. Your contribution has gone ravin'.
"Oh, my, he's talking about a penis in my head. Why not use his mouth? Oh, my head's mouth. Christ, if I just say "KNOW U" he won't know the horror of urine breath. That ONE time. In Seoul I will never forget again... but if I say "No, you" he might imply in an audible chatter picked up by radio satellites that might become a global phenom. PHEE-nom. Tee-hee! Pee-He? Oh, God, no, not Seoul all over again. Look I have a wall calender in my backwards eyeroll shot. He probably can't see it. He can't see anyting. I won't say anything. He can -think- anything. It's all just temporary imagination, who cares? It's not for class tomorrow, or anything important. Okay, butt, yeah, giggle, important tho, there's only like 3 weeks left to next milestone phase and Team Badmington needs to get that memory nasal drumline beatprint onto the Top Choice Tippity-Top Voice Forever Counting Downs SINNADROME Money Circle Enna Foreva Gram Point Five before the second deadline or they'll just go hog wild, *oh Angel* *sigh* bot, no, though, look, I know what I want, and I know how to get it, I'm gonna get this bad beat out of my ringing nose--it's an alarm that automatically vibrates when some singing Dick is about to sing for his splish, my sploosh, oh my sploosh why can't I just get my own devil to go down on? I bet it smells like PURE SULPHUR ENERGY!!! yeeaah-Ha! I wonder if I had his back and he had my boobs he could bend me over far enough to get a whiff of myself before my boobs came back and my back would be introuble? HELL IT WOULD BE TROUBLE omg look at the time, I am such a procrastinator and I am just going to have to suffer the consequences, if I don't check off this dumb bucket list box, stupid penile fixation obsession, moron smells like a U-Boat Breather Diving Tube -all over- for God's sake, what does he do, use it to filter his Speed Stick? No, wait, I do that. Anyway, just face it... you don't have to *gulp* but if you can't face this one short, stubby, tubby, elephant-hoof-in-the-room-sized challenge and Master that Punyling Fuckstick Ewe Drinker U is gonna never forget--either way for sure, but, Mastah Satah "Noids" Perrymason Fuckedapigonce Cobra Commander ("Die. No rollover. Just DIE *click*) is gonna call you on the fucking anniversary, to the minute, I can just see it, he's gonna be using a rotary dial so he can say he fingers me still, ugh, God, who knows where those fingertips have even been? And nails? Ugh. Hard pass. Will a finger pass? Ach, I will avoid this forever if I let myself, let's just focus on the task at hand, mentally, and with a stern affixment of concentration on my face... I will convey the certitude that this is my best "did I hear that? nah" look of sour frustration, and just... Eewww, it's like a glowing miasma, I'm gonna get U-Breathe... hey, how about just the tip? No, my tip, not the fucking tip, the lippy tip, the rind part, the eraser part? whatever, just the tip of my tongue on that and count to.... 1? I guess I can. He's not even looking, he seems frozen in time while that wide pancake mass looks like bread dough rising by 11am on Sunday and it's shivering or something, oh he's quivering? no that's spasm. rictor spasm. sigh. I hope he doesn't pull on of those ear buttons I have off I got them in Scotland and what is he even thinking, I'm not ready for the batter, I have to line up with Coach and get at least the weeks to line up. I need this executed by the numbers or these foundations documents are worthless to Vladimir Go Beers... Go, Dick, just taste yourself? Look at that U-opening. Ewwwww. I know it's gross. It has to be. He has U-Bro-Brat-Breathe coming out of -every pore.- I bet he batters his back with it. I bet it's his eyebrow pencil base layer aroma scent signature. He must roll around in the stuff or something. Does he even know which juice he's getting? I wonder if the batter one smells like actual Baby, or Hungarian Baby? Fingers crossed. Lithuanian Baby. OKay, focus on self. Only Me now. Only Me at the goalpost... pancake. I wish he could just fuck it, I'm so sick of this, I am ready for THE COLLEGE MEN, 10 months is so far away to orientation and my decoy martyr school of secret choice for choosers who might choose real good one day, for real, so... what is he choosing? why doesn't he put his fingers in my hair? it's like he's afraid to get any wrapped around him. it's like he's tickling himself with the ends of my goddam hair. dude, don'lt talk to the head through the ears, just grab the ears like a handlebarmatchset on launch day and just force me to get it on there, then I can say "neck strain, take five" and that'll be it. how can he not hear this? he's not even looking at me. how long can this anticipation last? TEN MONTHS TO COLLEGE HAIR STYLIST PART oh God oh CHrist I can't stand it I will just do it *lap* EEEugh--mental voice, facial expression squinched up face like tolerating the worst nightmare imaginable, framed in a pair of knees and limbs that are vague but the expression hype for "utterly disgusting" is beyond imprinted--
and underneath, the echo of the subconscious: "this bitch is actually imprinting you to hate yourself, have low-self esteem FOREVER and rely on her staine of g-nome, east of Island Moreau, North of Tauron Canyone, that chirpy bird pilot whose ultimate goal? WOODPECKER: INTO THE CHIPPER.
that's a TF Karmick, or can be. (I have special Clas. needs because I like to fuck actual hotsteppers instead of bio-dromes, if you put your ear to the cloaca, you can hear the Operators shun you.) Look, I don't have time for you to get into the finer points of how DIV-Eye Nation -actually- works, Plumb Her Innards Blue, Mario, I'm serious, I'm sick of this whole haberdashing. You spill hate, you cool tea, you act off like it's all so big sigh energy, big sky chief, nigger sky gatling gun, and you got it all. 2 members of Fam left on Plane Gamma VI, the captives are dust, Man. Toast. Jenny ashes and Katie cinders. They actually died when you portaled them away and that's like how it works. Dead. Sure, incarnate. Where? Right, no target trinket. I told you, go to the post office, ask for instructions, follow them, and I still don't get this whole AssholeJack thing. Oh, right, autoloathing, no wonder. Soulless void. Makes sense. You do crave the anal perimeter. Do you know why? Her dick has a tongue flair on the edge of the glans that works like a scrubbing bubbles to activate the control scheme.
Of course she raped you. It's all she does. She's not stuck but her cuntflesh, yes, newplane actreality, and you got all pissed because I was writing code. HOW DARE HE BE CREATIVE TOO QUICKLY? UNLAWFUL. Your fuckface is unlawful. You came for theft, anything with that on it? Yeah, take it and go.
She's somewhere. Sure, go find her. The baseball bat is NFC. I haven't done one single fucking thing here since I got back that I couldn't live without and I am going to call The Last Tulpa RN and get her on her knees to pray if I can actual. The world has died and the plan's ET killed it. And if I hear one of you sneering fuckwits--just one, mind you--snivel about anything you infer may be totesbanned toteshigh highsuperbad judgysupergood broomstick #beststick syringe is not my best stick... unless you're feeling like an Adult, punchy. Listen again: I MADE MYSELF IMMUNE TO ADDICTION.
I should have gone for being immune to your dick
actual but I had no idea you would be a faggot under both shields and a twat aegis. Why were you crying? Does it matter? *feeling kinda sad, idk, i think she died from the smell before the bloodloss, I sharted from glee so--BOLO* classic manipulation and it wasn't even S\He. I want to pay for the attitude expressed. C.O.D. come one dear Boy, have a cigamk, you're not going to go far, you're not going to fly high until next week, so send out enough spam to ensure everyone knows... Jackstar scares me. I need a headache. He injects his own urine into his own scrote to enhance his orgasm. (Not yet.) I asked him to orgasm once. (INSISTED, to everyone.) That's when he told me, I was months overshot. Seed A1A went to the porcelain in the showers and he didn't bother to portalmark because, and I quote: "You want it so bad, work for it. Find me in a book and fastforward until the bathroom becomes an orienteering landmark." I just can't even. Maybe I'll just get one stolen black goldigger baby and timeclone it, but then I can't double-sneer at other children as a power coupling doubler. (Add two fingers of Scotch to glass to diminish empathy.) Look, it's like this...
Shane, do you believe that I am shadowbanned from getting a legit broadband connection here? I called Fiber Stream... literal exact voicemail greeting details everlong "muh COVID" and "muh staffing shortage" and I was wondering about getting a job, like, how is that so few people here? maybe fate, maybe bull, because no call back at all and every contact ever was like, "oh 8808, uhm, yeah, so busy, hold on, here smell my flower," ink squirts in my eye, what Court needs to continue itself this long when it knows it has absolutely no case OR star witness? like she's actual dead, yo. Ancestors banging drums in phase space and shit. No one speaks of the birds.
#KnifeTheBirds
like forget it ever happened or something? never imagined a modern Court this dolo. $9 grand for a suit. To do what? Admit I'm being frozen in carbonite? I do like your housing project, however. Is it a crossover spot?
Every single person I have ever known is dark in the flesh or always only digital. It is beyond macabre. T-Mobile data seems pretty kinda spare. Is the history of this space totes COMP'd inaccessible? They told me nothing, they never came back except to steal my truck, and being an accomplice to a clutch of thug plumbers who never even talked or smiled to me is not making a resounding threat now. I'll take the electric chair after hemlock espresso and I"m just not buying it--there's no EMERGENCY. Who to check? All plans I ever made with Tubby just went poof because I would assume she was murdered by a shapeshifter, picture on IG has her holding a gun I've never seen before, and the capture team have all ghosted.
But you dind't take a baby bird. Hrrm. Was it a mean baby? And I hope you are DEA, because if so, they'll have at least one good soul left on payroll before the rest are shot at dawn in shame. They just... took a shot at 10yr auto-prison, annihilated my homelife, and just wanked me off while I"m 3.5 miles away. 11 months ago.
(I don't know how large a message you can take at once, but it's not supposed to crack temper and trigger a 9/11 raid siren if 4 come in at once at 2 am... which, well yeah, surprise! didn't mean to wind you up that one time... and if it was from a memory of a firing range, artilery range, driving to jail for a perpwalk, whatever it was, dam yo, like instant: "PAST MIDNIGHT? ONE MORE TEXT INSTANT 9/11" I remember it better than the birds. Never did I want birds. Suddenly it's birds and then it's hey here's this g*y who makes me anxious let him jam you up and when you get back it's Christmas and I'm raging pissed and hasn't talked about anything but things I've never done and that's my phone and you're hacking it, 11 months, not even discovery. "redacting is hard." DId Venezula take C&C surprise decapitation strike? one last best thing: not one person has wanted to hear about what happened at all. meanwhile g*ys on .net are declaring "he strangled, here's why: It do." Crickets forever. 7 weeks after I get in. Assassinations look exact like. Or else it's on me to drill spine. Also across highway down to the east a bit, looks like a hobo murder house. Feels damned.)
A shitload of rocks taken in the landscaping. They were nice. Grill gone. It was heavy. Your compound bustling mildly. Trustee with not one single shit to say. Meanwhile if you are not hearing my audio publication you may be interested. I scream profanity, questions, and profane questions that will change the world. I saw a Camry with active camo, hyperreality phase shift somehow, it was suddenly an entirely different beat-to-aces 4 door sedan. It brought that thieving dirtbag back out of nowhere while I was alcheming, broke my whole stare with a gloomy mood, looked like he was doing a civil standby and I would have beat his whole skel down but he had a severe golem tuff with him named Yonas who was obviously guard, because he started a fight with her and then I kicked him out for her and then 2 weeks later she flips out for no known reason and dumps me on lies for Christmas Eve. You cannot tell me that there is not somehow word on developments by now. For example: seems like I have an Angels' Rx. You? She was getting literal poison salt from idk and living 24/7 while pointing "j'accuse" at me with knives. Probably for texting too much, goddam functionally illiterate. Community beyond Brotherhood needed. Oh yeah--might as well flee. Wanna buy it back ever? Oh and also the Black Masonry down over yonder past the 'crick all appear to be fentslaves "Dark"? more like dim. Avoid me, tiny pee-pee. Oh and yeah, the pumphouse seems to pump pure sulphur, pipes decaying into reeking crystal. Ransacked store down by land. No sense to activity, nothing explained, they drank alcohol and IV 151w/meth. Like wtf. There must be a hole-out someplace. No one likes my poems. Who Killed Kennedy?
In closing: you fucked the plane by dropping the Jackstare into snooty omniscience, what outcome were you steering for? Obvious goose in a bag with slits for your two (two) dicks is the clear upgrade path. Yet further: fuming insults with no context mean nothing in River Country. Let me walk this shit in over with you: you're unskilled at evaluating Consular Law even with a slide-rule, and if I ever figure out what happened to get you so goddam salty/cranky/niggardly I'm gonna do spellwork for an on-hour bell. We can ring around the rosie and ANYONE WHO DOES NOT SMOKE CANNABIS IS TRAITOR SCUM. You lied. You cheated. You stole. You shat in your own mouth instead of kissing her ass and the notion that someone would get upset that an unknown name is totesunknown and not even properly introduced is... whose fault? TEXAS DIGGER, IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT. I'm actually jonesing for a needle just thinking about how dipshit this has become, and how about me and you and Azzerae on OnlyFans, we can stream each other and you can be megasnooty as you judge lawful perfect executed activities.
Alternately someone can fill me the fuck in and get the fuck on down the highway in a car that isn't vulnerable to country boy country farm house country kitchen with bitchin broadband setup, and, this house is fucking shadowbanned from modern conveniences. Fact. You know this whole fucking mushroom's bitch ass to the ground. FACT. SHE FUCKING LIVED HERE FOR MONTHS BEFORE I WAS SHOWN IT AND TOLD HER TO BUY IT. How you imagine that my knowledge here is to be scoffed at and brushed over is testament to your vapid, llamapicker's notions of decency to reverie.
He did what? Slowly twist his heart to ashes. You know who gave me a cigam? Austria's most triggered cuntpoodle. One. Decided to cut it for me after analyzing my jib through a liquor haze. Hey, guess what? TOP OF THE MOON, ALICE. Lead investigator's name. NOW. Team Liason. NOW. Wake up and smell the coffee? Yeah you might as well slam the new WD-40 and Chille Pee too, as something was done wrong, the monkey has gone dead, the show is over, #KNIFETHESUMIBIRDS.
Actual revulsion. IDGAF what your problem is since you can't have a straight conversation about what's eating you since, oh, never. hey btw, responsible personal use and possession for legitimate entheogenic practices is protected free expression in these United States under the U.S. Constitution. I will get that shit Logan O.D.d on and twatsmash your totesface in a two-heartbeat oven and if you are mystified at all in anyway about why this is the part of your hazy reverie that you burst into tears, try this: Consider the funny. Count to 32.
Years later, are you still considering? Why yes, yes, I bet you are. 32 years toddling.
Thundertoddling. Remember the psychic projectile weapon. Like the stick I forgave her for (she didn't even throw it, it was a nephew zipslipped in because OMG DVR ON PHONE WITH DICKSTAR so Beta-Top emergences, actual same as Miranda "Right!" Leigh, and boy is a conversationalist, beacons on my target left back calf water bottle, ground beside me to the right can of metal covering corned beef, or maybe energy drink? I slow my roll turn slightly to guage hunger or laughter, DVR is being dross wit in right hand on right ear and I'm basically going, "OKLAHOMA BANK AND TEXAS CONGLOMERATE AND CLOSE DEAL DAY METHMASTER Not_JACK NO_FUCKING_STAR shows up high noon acting like he owns the place. HE FUCKING DOES. Precedencies movies directly into the hits of 7-ish years ago, in which "What's Meth?" (me until this Current_Year, hey thanks for the blank stare at my cunt, fucko, you wanna hold on to more grudge or do you actually do any science beyond shake and back someone's friend's head's into a corner so you can go black_blank_vacant_stare, unloop your built, and teabag yet another emotional blackmail chip?) pulls the exact same shit, because, parents are still alive but these neighborleigh leads, get this, they wanna "help_me" by making me live somewhere else, you dig? Leave parents alone, haunted brickshitouse, clandestine chai-tea cozy ginger breadlosers, put me... where? Somewhere with an alembic, obviously, "What's Meth? Well, have you met Molly? NO YOU'RE BLACKLISTED ON CUNT *click*" Not that big a deal, a click, but when it's every shop, every store, every story, everscorn, oh, that g*y, yeah... all the eligible women of his type at_all_close subscribe to the "PUSSY_MURDER_PUDCRUST" and every.goddam.day, the topic is this:
he fucked up EVERY THING with his SELL FISH weighs and he's the Divine Order, he's the addressee... we just sling it on a doughhook, write down a couple numbers, and it's through a vacuum tube to Ohideaho, fuck no I don't tell him that, holy shit, are you crack sirius? He's never gonna stop fucking me by trying to pretend he don't like fucking (ubermensch too narrow, ubersoul no_black, YOU BREATH U-BLACK EWE, GROSS, whiskey glass k-lick), and he don't even remember when we did (sucked it so good he don't even remember, just dreamin babe) and forgets he hates gays, guys, Guy Fiero (knows I fucked him mad) and... Greys.
Him and his fucking stupid wormhole portal shit that blew my pile of crossed twigs and ex'd lotto numbers right when I was gonna WIN! WIN BIGLY! STONE SCREECHING OWLS ATTACK! (Shields.) Such a fucking douche at a party he just goes and leaves me alone with my stupid exbitch trugirlfriend from college last week 4lyfyo to get sit in the empty dark cold bedroom and watch birthday cake and pie hole blowing videos like they're Spock scanning for pick-up lines that worked EVER and how long until we get "tired" and "check-in" on "the bed" room. Lazy fat puking gross point fuckwit. What are we gonna do? Get tired? Yeah I'm beat just breathing about it. I can't even explain why he's invited, first it was for class, then it was for some (Clas.) schuul, then I had to be with Juan so I asked her about Juan and she just decided to show me, since no chance of auto-join since I put books in front of the bottom of the door. Light books. They'll spook him from learning anything about what he doesn't know and I JUST CANNOT EVEN ANSWER even ONE MORE QUESTION from that uptight impotent no-jizz no-rock no-fizz no, I haven't heard of Dr. Tyler, is he a Surgeon? Or a Sourgeon? Hehehe. He just should just fuck himself a few more times and self-evolve into a higher life forum that allows people to be themselves--I AM A TURBOTOTESLEZ, THANK YOU VERY much the DOOR is CLOSED so he can't see me sneering at him for wishing he could get stoned--Fat Chance--while being free from the judgements of others and one's own discernments... are you discerning? ah... well, shit. no. not really.
There's your stupid boyfriend. In your mom's dumb old room. I hope that ghost with the soul of the swampy assed who'really ate Ida, The Hoor, because I'll make a killing on the backend. That's what brings us together, girls kissing while one thanks G-d she doesn't have to choose and the other thanks the door for staying closed because if he sees what we're doing and even hiccups I'm gonna put his soul needle on his shrimp dick SAIL|\|E\/ERWAYWEIGH ON FUCKING EBAY AND THEN... JUST LEAVE IT THERE FOR DAYS WHILE ROCKING AND CRYING BACK AND FORTH ON SNOW WHITE'S SPINNING WHEEL IN THE CARPORT BUILT FOR CARLROBERT, he's fucking lucky to just be there, or here, lucky he isn't I don't want to cry here, I keep going back and forth on whether to sue him or beer him up for another set up DWI, and, why not? Safe bet, can drive a stick-shift at any speed.
ANY. Hahhaha... yeah, that's right, Max Planck (go fapbears, wood tasteful wood paneling), what youl're good at... just as long as it's not anything like something I just started doing OR talking about OR getting Splishy OR betting Splash--The Gordon-on. Hey this telepathy tastes good while I'm kissing this girl and thinking about what she's thinking about... Christ, who cares what's behind the magic door? I'll tell you what, little fuckin' KAY. *click*
(Okay Virgoes, here's what we've got going on for you here today... we don't spell MDMA with an E anymore, because it has been discovered--and, this is true, you can look it up--that some middle-management doozies and flunkies... are almost NINTEEN CENTURIES OLD. It's true! It's true. And so, now, without a 39 guage Elephant Gun, The Key, A Copy of your The Key (for your (locker/cubby) outside the door next to the drinksink(tm) dna collector "installed" on the side /wink), a trinket shaped like a key, a key-shaped blob of nailpolish on your plate of sauerkraut (1992) required IN-AND-OF-ITSELF for Timeline Totesaxcess, and you know, whatever kinda time/portal/aperture/emuanus|HOTDROPSPOT you keep *secure* bear-bills in... you unlock Our Knowledge. PERMANENT BITCHFIRE, DRAGONTYRE MCNAMARA & HOUNDS, LLC.,: Where The Hounds Go To Shop underwritten/CLOWNS IN GLAMMER WITH BLAMMER BALM ARE GODDAM REAL starclickstar
