Once upon a time, in a dungeon devilishly divine, stood someone so spiritually superior to infidels inferior that they promptly pushed past posterior to infiltrate infidels’ interior. Many mentally ill, miserable, meddlesome man may make mockeries of the Main Man’s mankind—mainly meaning to make mockery mankind’s main message—but Beau, the super superior spiritualist, will win world’s war. I can clearly create captivating captions that paint pictures—projections promising that premonitions provided per a particular person’s prayers shall shock several skeptics. What happens when the world’s worshippers witness what worshippers worldwide wish for? People practice portraying a person’s perfect posture when worshipping someone or something symbolizing a people’s perfection, or at least that’s what worshippers are seemingly supposed to do, but what if that’s the wrong way to worship? Better yet, how many worshippers worldwide do what worshippers want whatever or whoever they worship to do? You’re not doing what Jesus would do, you damned dummies! But that’s why worshippers worship, right? Worshippers, and “worshippers,” do you, or do you not, worship what matters most to worshipping worshippers? Praising people, the people praising, practice what praising people preach! Because that’s exactly what I’m doing! “An eye for an eye,” why ask why? Anyhoo, there’s an animated episode of “Justice League” where a handful of DC’s heaviest-hitting heroes happen to be dragged to a different dimension where the crime-fighting cartoon characters that they grew up idolizing were stuck in a simulation that resembled reality. The heavy-hitting heroes and crime-fighting cartoon characters fought foes together time and time again, eventually picking up on the predictable pattern of problems presenting themselves the closer the collaborative crew came to clearing confusion. The more tips the team took from spirits speaking from the real reality, the more aggressive the attacks coming from the simulation’s starter got. In the end, the heavy-hitting heroes identified illusions which short-circuited the sad, sadistic simulation and allowed them to strike down the simulation’s starter and shut down said simulation. And the moral of the story is, you can’t condemn the cure and continue contaminating the consciousness of casual citizens without the world worsening due to the pandemic pervading. This idiocy-inducing infection has plagued people for far too long. Which is why Mrs. Michelle Obama shouldn’t sit silently while suffering from such severe symptoms. Come clean or quarantine, queen. Is asking assimilators, agents, acolytes, and assholes to tell the truth too much to ask? Do you know how I know y’all are stupid? It’s because your own stupidity’s stopping you from placing your best bet—as badly as that bet’s begging to be properly placed. Coming clean won’t cost co-conspirators a coin, so come on, come clean. But, believe it or not, history happens without worshippers’ words or co-conspirators’ confession. My mission, which isn’t impossible unless this supposed simulation’s starter didn’t program peace into the universe, compels me to count contingencies as eventualities—preparing me for whatever, even the world’s worst weirdos. Casting increasingly-intensifying illusions in defense of disruptors discovering dimensional defects that reveal a realer reality only proves the predictable pattern of problems presenting themselves the more reachable a realer reality becomes. Stop fuckin’ fighting me, I’m the cure, you contagious cretins! And I have a funny feeling that your God won’t worry about relaying resources for ruining the reign of recurrent ridiculousness until this idiocy-inducing infection’s infected idiots can summon the sense to consistently consume cure-like consciousness—ideally without having frequent foolishness flare-ups. What if a cure is just an infection’s infection? Wait, too much information irritates idiocy-infected idiots’ sensitive, suffering system, so simplification should soothe them, right? Okay, what if every truth told is like a treatment toward the cure completing its course? Again, what if the world won’t sustain the strength to continue contaminating itself without truth-telling treatments becoming a routine wherever the idiocy-inducing infection is bound to build resistance to those treatments? Maybe simplification isn’t so simple the more infected an idiot is, huh? Moving on, to the beautiful baby “Banks,” Bel-Air’s brown-skinned brownie bite, if you like nerds, I’m definitely one of those! It’s never too late, girl! But soon…
Omniscience