I'm STFU.
I am belting out the sun and the stars with absolutely no hanging feedback. How does it feel to know I have fewer limits, and you have already convinced yourself
fast?
STFU. No, actually, telling other people to clam up is exceptionally odd behavior when not in a time of war. Is there a new struggle? I just took care of the last one. I might have some time. So I rather don't get the meaning.
It could be that I broke down the next segment of Ongoing Narrative, and while I was satisfied with the experience and I'm getting the impression that my speaking choices are considered unwelcome.
Is this right? Oh, by the way, I'm either prepping to finish or am about halfway through an actual (PROT), so while I am sure some never think about it, this process is ongoing, and it's fascinating.
Also, I somehow managed to fend off some advances yesterday by being overwhelmingly rejective and I imagine predictable results will ensue. Tell you what, I'll STFU about that.
I would like to talk about these pants though, but, well, fuck it. I'm just gonna say it: tummysticks is actually boring compared to Sourcery. /shrug
Now, I really dig these Davey/Goliath things but I understand how sudden unexpected shifts are discomfiting. And this was unexpected, huh? Look, not an ambush, but an airdrop, these things happen in Divine timing, and I deliberately choose these Godly-type words to describe myself, because, I think it's funny to watch people freak out about my own reality. Like, I would lie for what reason?
"I saw a portal, and some beings invited me out, and I said, "No, my mom's is gonna need me." And they made sure I was serious, and then, they took off, seemingly blowing up the ship they brought with them in an instant? I don't know. At the time, I didn't know legit tens of thousands of people were seeing something else. I found out and wondered if anyone else got 3 blue spheres in their bedroom while alone? And was I gonna feel stupid for skipping the yacht ride... just for my stupid mother? That dumb ninny? I am staying behind just to watch her die?
Not a single goddam regret and of course, leaving my body and going elsewhere sounded good, but that was just because I had no idea that hospice for my mother was the best job ever, and I also wasn't sure if someone knew what the fuck they were doing, but I would definitely prefer to be prepared if someone wised up, than not to be.
Remember: I did not report to NORAD. I immediately reported directly to Art Bell and I fucking knew that was the same goddam thing. And here I am. I forget who killed him, I don't remember this shit, it just gets transmitted. i'm too busy thinking about the new administration's labor retreat.
It has fancy needles. And you make this Space, and then... Jesus, who can't have needles? Oh, right, blackmail/extortion targets. I would love to tell that fat tubby fuck how he's a dipshit and a million, however... I don't think that would be right for a child to know that his father is stupid, honestly, that kind of comment should be held back until IMMEDIATELY after he drops dead of a heart attack, hopefully with a little bit of rolling around and gargling, because I am sure they will both be impressed by the upgrades to their Crown chakric bond that I arranged... oh, months ago. Maybe years? The kid is precocious. Honestly, who wouldn't want to have a dead father? I know that I ask mine to go Ghost Mode and stalk all my ex-girlfriends all the time, and of course, he totescomplies.
Fortunately mine doesn't come around often. I'm really looking forward to it. Like I could give a shit about this broadminded and small-sacked chode. HOWEVER: I like his scion. Kid shows promise. I'll convert him to Hungarianism INSTANTLY on natural father death. What's he gonna do? Appeal? I'm a fucking Bishop. Like I give a shit. If I wanted a pet to follow me around and worship me, I would have let someone nail me to the wall as their beard. Lots of options. Surprise! It sucked.
Speaking of which: I can't hardly wait to see the Enforcement Package coming up. Like, I have been prepping for the Showcase Showdown for fucking years. I mean, no rush to see you embarrassed, but I don't see the fear coming up at all. I am relaxed.
I am also not a big fat fucking alcoholic lying doucheback poncedick, with a dandy as an ally, so, I'm not sweating the world which is up to come. Look, it's real simple, I don't give a shit if you ever die at all, if I get a request from Dogboy Wondershrimp after 13yo>, I'm gonna tell him the truth: you're an asshole and that means nothing because we are -aligned- assholes. Oh, i'm the bad influence, huh?
You're an actual King Kong Nigger and I could give a shit about your fucking baseless whining and carrying on. You know what would have helped? Not being a shithead bigot. On the bright side, I think everyone learned that lesson this time.
N'est-ce pas?Next time don't imagine yourself as outthinking an apex predator when Keyser Soze's wife is on line 2, and can't remember how to get to the airport... like, is that code? Tell you what, just take him and fucking run, how about that? Oh, right, I forgot, it's a scam attempt and y'all thought you were being -subtle.-
Look, we love you both, but neither of us are dumb enough to be pawns in your stupid parent shell game. What's the threat here? Oh no, I might never have to deal with a big pain in the ass again? Okay, first of all: telepath. Second of all: save it for Sober Watch Tower Panda Express. Like, I swear to fucking -G-d.-
If I had known this would be nine months, without your ingorant bellyaching whining about shit you only think you know stuff about, holy shit, I would have been whistling Dixie the whole fucking time. Instead, I am in -awe-. Watching this from below? Holy damn it must BE TOTES AWESOME. Especially the part where it probably isn't that for you.
Thanks for the cigar. I wish you had been made clear: it's pretty fucking unwise to trifle with Jackstar in front of your kid, unless you think I want him to actually forget that I actually am better than you at mostly everything. Like, what you got? Oh, right, cooking. Well, right on, gosh, impulse cravings. Wow.
I already knew that "never helping me" was the order of the day, lol. Note that it still worked out okay.
Go give an object lesson to someone or something. Christ. Oh, wow, did I get fuckin' fed up of your total fucking bullshit at the exact right time? Wow, that hardly ever happens. See you at the party, Richter.
I know it looks like I crave the company of an argumentative brat on a constant basis--I do love the taller, rounder, more shrieky than whiney one, to be sure--but the sum point of fact is this: you all had no idea what was going on, and I saved your goddam bacon, and I could give a shit if you knew, know, or ever do know.
Your fucking kid knows, why don't you ask him how to say niggerbiffle too? You arrogant gaslighting retard fuckhead. Sure, I miss you. Un peu. What I do miss is seeing you being forced, day by day, question by question, have to come up with an answer to the question that makes SENSE.
What the fuck happened to Jack? Oh, I'll fucking tell him. Is he 13? I'll risk it. 18? Dude, I'll tell him -any-thing. And, here's why: I watched you all fucking lie to him, and me, lots and lots.
I am, of course, devastated beyond all rational functioning to be ejected clear of your torturous shitshow. And, that's okay: I wasn't in there involved anyway. Soooo... buh?
I'm good. Catch you later. Here, take these Flintstones vitamins, he probably thinks Betty is the tall one. And I did something wrong, eh?
ultra lol.