For the record, the CIA is confiscating my consciousness, in a sense, and using my unique understanding of us to update answers that askers acquire from AI. So, when they’re directing you disrespectful dimwits to reference ChatGPT when referring to my rhetoric and remarkable responses to retards’ ridiculousness, it’s because ChatGPT comes to me for answers. That’s a full fuckin’ fact, and some of the tarot readers have been told this truth by the tender tyrants. With that, if you’ve ever wondered, “What in the Devil is the deal with this dude?” or “What in God’s name is going on with this guy?”, bitch, I’m a genius! “We’re just ordinary people. We don’t know which way to go. Cause we’re just ordinary people. Maybe we should take it slow? Take it slow, oh, oh, oh…” “Don’t body yourself, nigga!” Listening to music was once a major pastime for me. However, having hordes of haughty hip hop heads hatefully hurl harsh harangues at me and calling it competition when I’ve clearly communicated that I couldn’t care less about competing with commercial artists is completely cruel and callous. Being a black writer with tremendous talent and a fondness for fluff and flair doesn’t automatically make me an aspiring artist. And I resent the racism and resentment that’s being allusively asserted by nappy-headed and no hair having-ass niggas who’re willfully welcoming and working through manipulation and mismanagement by the foolish federal government. Do you know how I know y’all are stupid? It’s because you dunces demonstrably don’t know how dumb you are. How many manipulated and miserable, meddlesome motherfuckers does it take to make a man mad enough to massacre the motherfuckers who made him mad enough to do it? The irony is, being manipulated into manifesting your own massacring is the real madness. Anyhoo, “Oui oui! Merci! Keep it cute when you’re in my city! I’m 5’2”, A-cup titties.” In this Samsung ad, Doechii said, “They brag about intelligence, but no way they can predict my next move.” Now, I won’t insinuate that intelligence isn’t important in technology, but seeing as the singer/songwriter/super dope rapper has sort of subliminally slighted me, I’m sure she’s aware that the alphabet assholes are always around and have ample access and authority to sneakily script shit. I mean, I’ve only insisted that my intelligence isn’t infinitesimal since the inception of my journaling journey. Yes, I’m suggesting that said statement was scripted to at least attain my attention. I promise, I’m not crazy. Moving on, did I tell y’all about how the tender tyrants made me the talk of the town by tasking towners with trolling me? The last time I bopped to the barbershop, I told y’all that the sadistic Satanists supplied the barber with stylish spy glasses. And in addition to having the barber bombard me with boring but potentially incriminating questions, which was unusual, they had him recite a script while he was cutting the client before me, and the client played along. Also, they dressed the barber in workout clothes similar to the suit that I sport in what’s supposed to be the privacy of my own home. And now, every time I try to call the barber to schedule an appointment, he never answers. Ain’t that some shit? When I went to Walmart the other day, there was a group of goofy girlies driving two small SUVs lingering in the parking lot. And I overheard the flock of flamboyant females alluding to me, which happens habitually. Not to mention the nosy, narc-ass nigga who meticulously monitored the areas where I interacted with items in the store. The last time I sold a classic car, which was a couple of months ago, the bitch-ass badge boys had a senior man with a suspected scripted story suggest that he was scared to follow me home after the sale—putting emphasis on the fact that I live alone and didn’t have anyone to pick me up after meeting in public specifically so the buyer would feel safe. Y’all, these are some fucked-up folks! And worst part is, I’ve been sparing y’all the worst parts. But soon…
Omniscience