Comedy can cure stress, sadness, hopelessness, heavy-heartedness, and much more. But cruel, callous comments and conduct can certainly compound or trigger those things. “Roasting” in a completely controlled entertaining environment verifies the victim’s voluntary involvement in the collaboratively cruel, callous quasi-comedic ceremony. Still, per everybody’s everyday experiences, intentional insults aren’t always funny, and fools are frequently fought or finished for overstepping and offending. Still again, super sensitivity—as in someone’s excessively enlarged ego being easily shrunken by something as small or simple as a jokester jesting—can make minor moments into major misfortune. Remember, when “The Slap” sensationally shocked society, plenty of petty, puerile, probably problematic people proclaimed that they think many more motherfuckers deserve disrespect for feeling funny. Mentally ill, miserable, meddlesome motherfuckers would rather witness the world at its worst than to deal with the demoralizing, disheartening fact that they will never be at their best. Happiness is hard when hatefulness has a hold on people, and from their pitiful perspective, endless evilness is easier than being the better person, because being better requires recognizing and reconstructing flawed, faulty features. Fixing flawed traits and faulty thinking means acknowledging and accepting all of your own bullshit, but bullshitters will die bullshitting! Anyhoo, for the record, just jokey-jokes barely bother me, but the conspirators and co-conspirators are being distressingly disrespectful as they allusively attack and subliminally slight me to dodge detection and deny doing what they’re definitely deliberately doing. Yes, I was absolutely alluded to in Netflix’s rowdy, rousting roast of Kevin Hart. And though I haven’t watched the whole thing yet, the clip constantly coming up on my totally taken over timeline is the reconciliating remark, “I’m a fuckin’ fan first.” It seems safe to think that the alliterative assertion in said reconciliating remark, along with Katt’s Illuminati joke, confirms that the country’s chief conspirators supplied scripts for the roasters to review and recite just to fuck with me. To repeat, Katt’s infamous interview with Shannon Sharpe had a bunch of bites from Beau’s blog posts in it—they took tons of my thoughts and things. By the way, I’m Beau Amoureux, and I’m one of the most influential, inspirational, impactful people on the planet. And I don’t know why the FUCK these stupid-ass sacks of stinky shit thought that I was some sort of simple-minded sucker! But back to the bullshit, the aforementioned alliterative assertion is appreciably allusive and subliminally suggests that I should hug or hold hands with co-conspirators, likely the bald-headed and bad-mouthing bitches who’ve been beefing with me, to squash the stupid shit that they started and steadily sustain. Like I said, I’ll never be cool or cordial with childish-ass cowards or their cohorts ‘cause I’m a principled person who comprehensively comprehends that change can’t come from conservation. Conserving cowards’ careers, credibility, and confidence—especially in consciously causing chaos and confusion—by being as big of a bitch as they are and bowing to the gutless, ghastly goofies isn’t conducive to change or my continuance as a chosen changer. I’m a true truth-teller, and y’all lying-ass ‘lluminati lovers are just going to have to contend with the consequences of co-conspiring. Nevertheless, it’s totally terrific that the two tiniest Hollywood hilarity helpers have ditched their differences. Again, for the objective observers, among the co-conspirators are the central culprits and the cover-up crew. The central culprits teamed up with the tender tyrants from the beginning of this bullshit and were taught the touchless torture tactics that the cover-up crew was co-opted to clean up—in theory. The cover-up crew consists of countless celebrities, and really respectable and renowned people like Mrs. Michelle Obama are being used to make me look like a clueless, cowering chump who isn’t the type to seek or savor superstardom and significant success. But in reality, everyone’s getting gaslit by the goofies and I refuse to relent, as I have a right to remain righteously remorseless. The conspirators have even been blocking my blessings and fucking with my finances to force me into fucked-up positions, praying that the pressure will pop my poise, persistence, and pinpointed focus—as if being out of options will make me dumb and desperate enough to stop seeking justice and join them. Stimulating suicidal thoughts through trauma and turmoil is the CIA’s calling card. Y’all, they’re disguising devilishness and dodging detection to drive me into derangement, duh! I don’t fuck with y’all, I don’t give a fuck about y’all, and y’all best be ready for something similar to war. Because soon…
Omniscience