The worst part about this whole whirlwind of wrongness and wickedness is that the witches and warlocks are aware that they’re lying. First, if you discern that your deceit and devilishness is disturbing one’s peace, causing them distress, defaming them, demonizing them to those who you’re deliberately dishonest to, and definitely destroying their reputation, why not desist from dragging out the disaster? The disturbers, devils, and demons must desire to do the dupe dirty, huh? Second, get the fuck out of here! So, to pick up on piloting the past to the present, I’m putting forth that the primary petty-ass, puerile podcaster was pretty much approached by the punk-ass police to play with my psyche. Said podcaster, who pioneered the hip hop portion of podcasting, poked at and pestered me through allusive acknowledgment of my internet activity—including him hinting at having read my blog repeatedly. In the beginning, the bitches in black were careful not to clue me in to their involvement in the insidious and inimical incident that they initiated and insisted on instigating and intensifying in the long run. The alluding went on for a while before I went from wondering if I was tripping to wondering why it was happening. Eventually, I expressed my exasperation—requesting for the retired rapper (the primary petty-ass, puerile podcaster) to reveal the reasoning behind his regular allusive remarks. But the bitches in black doubled down and decided to divulge undisclosed details about me and my life to the podcaster—I guess to test my patience and poise. Again, at the time, I was focused on figuring out what the fudge, fried fish, and fig bars was going on. Believing that it was possible that the podcaster was pursuing a partnership with me, I informed him that I wasn’t interested, but that he could mention me by name on his popular podcast if he had a hankering for helping my brand broaden. Of course, the offensive opp never obliged. Now, if the nosy numbnuts knew nothing about me and was nervous that I was a nut, a simple background check would’ve cleared his concerns, correct? Remember, he had already alluded to my confidential conversations, family feuds, personal proceedings, and other off-the-record occurrences. Still, in being uncertain and careful not to jump to conclusions, I wanted to consider the comparability between my reality and what turned out to be the referencing and recreating of my real-life stories as coincidences. If that’s confusing, tell me about it! But nonetheless, clarity was crucial, so I began to try out my own theories by throwing out teasers and tasks for the podcaster to taste and take. Y’all, he (or should I say they) took the bait every fucking time. Once more, I suspected that I was being secretly surveilled for years, but because the podcaster is proudly and publicly petty, puerile, and problematic, I didn’t put it past him to contact my resentful relatives to find ways to trigger me. Obviously, the only way to obtain the other sides of stories is to query all participating parties, right? So, if the podcaster was regurgitating lies that my relatives repeat regularly, it’s natural for me to assume that he’s getting the info from those deceitful dopes, right? All my maternal relatives are dysfunctional, disloyal, dishonest, and disrespectful—it’s learned behaviors, unintelligence, immaturity, and a lack of love. Y’all, all those miserable motherfuckers read my blog, they all lie about not reading it, and none of them ever cleared up anything. So, where I first figured that the podcaster was in direct contact with my distant, dissembling, duplicitous relatives, it turns out that they were talking to the Feds—who were forwarding the fictions and fibs to the podcaster. Like I said before, throughout this oppressive ordeal, one of the Feds’ terrible tactics was to assist my ridiculous and resentful relatives in attempting to manipulate my mind and make me think I was crazy. They lied, laughed, lashed out, were complicit in the corruption, and also allusively attacked me while being assisted by the Feds. Imagine being so humiliated by honesty that you hate yourself enough to hate the person telling the truth about you. If y’all were real and real with yourselves, you’d realize what “real” really is. And please, stop acting like me not fucking with y’all is something new. Personally, if it ain’t the truth, it ain’t for me. To be continued…
Omniscience