Y’all, much of the fuckery and foolishness that you find funny and fun to focus on is a farce. I regret to inform you that indignant, indisputably informative Jaguar Wright is indeed (allegedly) a confidential informant for the Feds! How do I know this, you ask? It’s because she, like many other celebrities, has been allusively poking at private particulars pertaining to me that only the peeping-ass po-po would be privy to. Jag, I used to be a fan, with “used to” being the operative phrase. “I know! You got yo’ eyes on me! I feel you watchin’ me! But it ain’t hard to see that you can’t see me! You try! But what you think you saw! Ain’t what you thought you saw! You betta off not lookin’ at all!” For the record, politicians, investigative reporters, news anchors, lawyers, law enforcement agencies, and many people of authority read this blog. So, all that performative posturing and pretending y’all are putting forth, trying to pull a fast one on the people, is only proving my point. The thicker you lay it on, the more obvious it becomes, duh! Intelligent individuals are indisposed to ignore the impact of ignorance. In other words, for the dignified and discerning, dumb shit doesn’t disappear amid deceit and the determination of a deceiver doesn’t discourage them from defying dishonesty. Diverging slightly, in “The Matrix,” the green numbers representative of binary code signifies the make-up of programming—the intricate (but simple to programmers) algorithm that controls the functions of a computer’s or program’s processes. In the movie, the ability to see, read, and write binary code—or manipulate the Matrix—requires first leaving said Matrix or exiting one’s “programming.” Essentially, mastering the Matrix makes one a programmer—giving them limitless possibilities—which people often refer to as a “master of manifestation” in our reality. So, fuck-ass Feds, remember that riveting phone call Neo made right before he caused a system failure and took flight where flying was supposed to be impossible? Think about all the wickedness you’ve wreaked on me, how many weak and wack foes you’ve forced to fuck with me, and how easy it would be for me to “show these people what you don’t want them to see!” Right about now, bad news about Beau would boost a bunch of bitch-ass boneheads’ moods. There’s a few things that I think everyone should know. One, jealousy and all that jazz just ain’t my jam. Why the fuck would I be jealous of niggas who jack my joints just get some “juice?” Two, I’m not even persistently pursuing my “past-life partner,” so why would I be craving or chasing a connection with coons and clowns? Three, I didn’t start any of this shit! I openly offer my opinions like others, but opposition is often offended by my on-point observations. I’m intuitive and insightful, which irritates idiots and intimidates inefficient imbeciles. What’s more, weaklings are worried by the way women respond to my writing, which makes them wish they were more worthy. In my opinion, a lot of people think they’re smart—or believe that they know smart people—until they come across my blog and realize that they don’t think enough. The fault with forever following your “first mind,” meaning your instincts or intuition, especially in instances that aren’t important or time-sensitive, is that your initial thoughts could be influenced by ignorance. Ultimately, information informs you about how uninformed you were before you learned it. And learning will regularly remind you that there’s always more to learn. You can fuck around and find out, or figure it out so you don’t have to fuck around. The choice is yours. To make it clear, as ego is defined as confidence in one’s worth and abilities, I admit that I have a strong ego. But if I don’t fuck with you, it’s for sure because you’re foul, fake, a fool, and/or full of shit. I’m just sayin’.
It’s currently 11:05pm, and I’m contemplating on my current course of action. I could crush contenders’ souls, or continue to keep them in a state of consternation and concern. In the news, representative Jasmine Crockett is under fire for referring to Texas’ permanently paralyzed governor—who is wheelchair bound—as “Governor ‘Hot Wheels’.” Personally, I’m a supporter of democrats in Congress, but I perceive the prototypical lack of professionalism and poise among America’s politicians as problematic and unprincipled. Disliking, disapproving of, or disagree with someone doesn’t mean they deserve to be disrespected. However, I believe in the transference of energy, as well as reciprocation, and sometimes people need to get what they give to recognize their ridiculousness. I could talk about the representative’s lousy lacefronts or her nubby neck, just to balance out some karma. But she’s cute, and I have enough enemies. Speaking of karmic debt, you-know-who, I see you deleted that Live where you were allusively attacking me. I meant to download that motherfucker, because I was definitely going to put you on blast. I guess you grew a conscience, huh? I could sense the anxiety in your voice before you said what you said, which was followed by relief after you said it. Realistically, a “real one” wouldn’t be so rude without a real reason. Anyhoo, what’s the meanest thing that someone has ever said to you? I once wrote about believing that I am on the autism spectrum (totally bating for bullshit), before ignoring an insensitive, imposing podcaster while touching on the topic of a hyped hip hop beef and shouting out Ebro from HOT 97, and the jealous joke had jokes. That’s not the meanest thing that motherfucker has ever muttered, but since I’m speaking on sensitive subjects, I figured it fits. It’s now 12:43am, and I share the time at times just to tell how my train of thought travels. Again, when aspiring to ascertain accurate answers, I approach questions from all angles. As I’m under surveillance, a running joke that the Feds feed my foes is that I sometimes write too slowly to be seen as smart. But in actuality, I’m usually writing in my head, and what meets the page is often only a partial peek at what I’ve pondered. Thinking about thinking, how many of you thought before tackling the task of taking me on? Just so y’all know, I catch everything that I come across, from those “Bald Brothers” bits, to that “For the Fellas” conversation based on my vibe and values (at a minimum), to every podcast sponsored by Prize Picks now (allegedly) poking at me, to Novi Brown’s astrology reading (shout-out to her), to the various episodes of Rick and Morty, to the gaslighting and gags, to the threats of blackmail and blackballing, etc. Not everybody’s an opp, obviously. Yet, it’s difficult to differentiate the devilish from the delightful when duplicity has been so common. The way I see it, this “humiliation ritual” is really an attempt to sacrifice or sabotage me. But since I’m not suffering enough to need saving or selling my soul for success, the folks who figured I’d fold are forced to face the fact that I don’t give a fuck! So, what the fuck y’all gon’ to do?! “See, here’s the problem with round-the-clock torture. It’s that, you can’t really step it up from there!” Guys, this isn’t a fuckin’ movie. And I’m not sitting at home blogging and bullshitting because I’m bored. My life has a purpose, and it’s to put people in their places, politely. With that being said, if you punk-ass, pussy-ass, pansy-ass, pathetic pieces of poop are praying for me to throw you a pity party for participating in a painfully preposterous parade of pointlessness and portraying piss-poor performance, please! Do you know how I know y’all are stupid? It’s because you think I’m stupid, but you admire me for my intelligence. Make that make sense, before I do it, and we all know y’all don’t want that! Peace.