Conspirators and co-conspirators, you’re not clever—you’re childish cowards! The facts the folks frown upon, the truth that triggers their tears and tempers, are the last things they think of when fucking up, the first things they think of after they’ve fucked up, and the things they never want to hear when being told that they fuck up too frequently. And do you know where y’all keep fucking up at? At trying to tell me where I’m fucking up! Why in this withering, wasteful, war-ridden world would I let the cretinous creatures that I stay stating are stuck on stupid lead my life? Content creation and creatively communicating concerns—educating eloquently to keep everyone engaged—ain’t automatically aligned. For the record, I still haven’t consumed any of Kai Cenat’s content, and I won’t because I’m disinterested in silly shit without substance unless it’s evidence against the endlessly evil eternal enemy. Respectfully, reacting to reality rowdily and rambunctiously ain’t a talent. Shit, neither is being boring and bullshitting like the Breakfast Club bitches, but those goofies are giggling, gaslighting, and getting paid. Although, making money with monotonous monologues and major misinformation shouldn’t sell—in my opinion. Still, if Kai Cenat wasn’t a millionaire, many motherfuckers would wonder, “What’s the big deal?” And knowing that the cute, little chocolate nigga is a millionaire, I’m still asking, “What the fuck is the big deal?” Keep pushing positivity and praying, little brownie batter bootied brother, but tell the truth about trolling me if you’re adamant about affiliating with America’s assholes in authority to allusively attack and subliminally slight me. “Fear and frustration” ain’t got nothing to do with my calculation and concentration in this “competitive” chess match against the country’s most crooked cops and their conspiratorial commanders. And the distinctive difference between the permanent pettiness and puerility of the punk-ass police and their play pals and my inflexible individual intelligence is, I don’t play—I prosper and prevail! By the way, I’m not a hater, I’m just honest. Personally, I don’t want to be famous for no fuckin’ reason—I’d rather be revered and renowned for something significant. And again, I’m not an entertainer, I’m a profound problem-solver! Fuck TikTok, Twitch, and social media success, I’m aiming to attain my own chapter in the history books! And if you’re an obstructive objector or a hard-headed hater, your oppressive obsession proves my power to manifest my dreams or gain my “goals.” What’s more, history holds that you can’t offer what I’m after, because it has yet to belong to anyone. Foolish folks who fathom that forcing feelings on free-spirited people is permissible or pardonable should be punished, or properly put in their place. I don’t give a fuck about none of y’all, but again, your oppressive obsession with me is obvious. Anyhoo, what if I rewrote the Bible? Would that be blasphemous? Aren’t my affirmations awesome and awakening? I regularly remind the readers that my intelligence is innate and wasn’t instilled or inherited because being smart and somewhat sophisticated is commonly contributed to a stable support system. Growing up, the grown-ups around me never told me I was smart, and they resented my ruminative reflections of reality. It was always, “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” and “That doesn’t make sense!” and arguments against all things rational and reasonable. Not to mention the dishonesty, disrespect, disunity, disloyalty, and dysfunction among my relatives. What’s worse, being lied to or lied on? I once resided with a relative who lied like her life depended on it. For example, one day I walked in the house, minding my motherfuckin’ business, I passed her door carrying a bunch of bags, and I heard her tell a person on the phone that I’d just asked her “Where the food at?” I hadn’t even spoken to the lying lady in weeks, if not months. Then, when I’d visit various relatives, which has always been really rare, they’d mention many moments that never happened. Just so y’all know, there’s no reconciliation required because there are no real rapports to rebuild. The holidays are hectic and hell for hosts of humans. If you want my advice, protecting your peace by being by yourself when silence and serenity are sought is seriously healthy and self-helpful. The Feds, who have been following and fucking with me forever, try to trigger traumas with talks of family—pompously promising to piss and poop on my peace. And even though lawsuits are looming, these Lucifer lovers won’t let up. Should stress and success stay stitched together, to the point where stupid motherfuckers simulate situations similar to their struggles for smarter people who see easier ways to elevate? Like I said, fuck y’all kill your motherfuckin’ selves, and I hope all y’all fuckin’ die! My success is soon…
Omniscience