Needles. Go get fucked.
Motherfucker: the book I could write right now, would end your entire goddamned existence. For real. Years of research and study have lead to this moment... and fortunately for the both of us, enough people have a Need To Know whatever it is that they think they need to know, that you and I will surely live to see the sun come up tomorrow.
For real. Although I suppose it's gonna be crowded at the horizon. Now, having said that, I don't have any desire to end the entire goddamn existence of a significant section of the populace, and I don't have any animosity towards you — hang on, let me look up that word; ... confirmed/verified\correct, I do not have “strong” hostility towards you — so I don't mean to make this sound... so threatening... however, in the last 20 minutes I sure learned a fuck lot. Thanks for your help, I couldn't have discerned nearly as much without your support. For example, I couldn't have learned how nice the jail is here in any other way, that's for certain. (Typically, I don't come home and think, “I would rather just drive to jail and go to sleep than be here at all,” but then again, I am not typically poisoned by Feds on a big baby bitch-ass bitch-power power trip thinking they knew what the fuck they were stepping to, so it was a remarkable day all around, except for fags.) Now, do I want to tell you, or tell anyone, anything at all? Well, I'm sure you know how I feel about rhetorical questions. So, no, not really, not at all. I'd rather continue to casually sip on a few brewskis and calmly enjoy my placid afternoon & evening without reminding myself of how much I've learned from One (1) missed Ms.Thuggee Trufflehound, and what obnoxious thuggie bullie officious pricks have learned from me, based on the telemetry left at my disposal. (You are not referenced here, as I consider you to be just A. Student.)
Whatever you learned is horseradish. What do you even
do in the course of a day like this? No no, no: spare me the details, if you don't mind. I don't need to hear about you knocking over pencils and picking up papers while gazing down (PROT)’s (blank). I also don't really wanna let you know how far in advance my research corpus has advanced in recent times. It would scare the babies.
Now, as to the question of, “Why is Kuczi so goddam crazy?” I have the final answer on that. I know, I know, it was supposed to be some kind of rhetorical insult, right? A lot of things aren't what they are supposed to be in these End Days, and this answer is no exception: “It's complicated.”
I'm just going to buy another textbook. You probably know everything you need to know from me now, especially with your access to superior study hall furnishings, so I'm okay with the added $44.95 to my expense account. Especially as I will not be at all helped by any access to your research notes in the margins, nor would I be benefitted by any access to your private (blank).
Let me know how it feels to punch Sparkle in the dick. I'm getting ready to work on my collection of poetry later, and I am reluctant to miss out on any opportunity that presents itself as one that one (1) might be actually proud of exploiting.
(PROT) told me that you were a private investigator, but she was under the impression by then that I thought anything coming out of her was legitimate at all. You are anything
but an investigator. You're not even an instigator.
But you are quite the instructor, that's for sure. Once again—I just learned a lot, and with The Key, you unlock Our Knowledge.
And you are -never- getting a The Key,
Boy. *door politely slams shut forever*
(*muffled:
“Remember the Alamo!*)
