Change can’t come from conservation! So, who and what wants to go first? National news networks normally report recurrent ridiculousness and broadly broadcast bullshit because the country’s chief conspirators control nefarious narratives. And again, the country’s chief conspirators own everything. What’s more, those tender tyrants torment Trump with relentless rebukes for several reasons. First, maintaining the illusion of fairness and freedom in a clearly corrupt country is completely contingent on how hardly hateful humans hate “powerful” people. For instance, if Trump is perceived as a powerful person, and national news networks constantly condemn him for every little fuckin’ thing he does, from the clueless country’s chief conspirators’ point of view, all Americans will consider said constant condemnation a sure sign that even powerful people aren’t exempt from justice and their just due. But in reality, it’s a part of the illusion. Y’all, all this shit is fake as fuck! Second, they’re endlessly evil. Do y’all want to know why the weak-ass weirdos won’t leave me alone? It’s because somebody, somewhere knows exactly who am! Essentially, I’m “Neo,” “John Connor,” “Superman,” or humanity’s heralded hero—potentially or prophetically. And unfortunately for fools fucking with the Feds—coddling the country’s chief conspirators—and the corrupt controllers themselves, I’m about to prove said prophesied potential. I can see on some of your faces that this thing, the crazy conspiracy centered on me and the discernibly daunting task of tackling “powerful” people and an inimical industry of satanic sinners, makes you feel somber and sorry for me. Can sympathy save lives? All you measly motherfuckers do is talk, twitter, and tittle-tattle, but telling the truth about your intentional involvement in something that’s sure to ruin your reputations and relationships is too tough a topic to talk on, huh? Anyhoo, I didn’t watch the notable nigga awards, but I saw some shots of the African-American attendees. DaBaby, boy, you were fresh as fuck, salute. I also saw a captivating collage of colored celebrity chicks, and for a split second, I thought, “Oh, shit! All these beautiful black broads know who I am!” Then, I remembered, many famous folks are fake as fuck. No, everybody’s not an opp, but what’s the distinctive, defining difference between celebrity co-conspirators and their colleagues or contemporaries? All African-American agendas aren’t the same. That goes double for you, often ostentatious O’Shea Jackson—the oppressors’ outrageously offensive operative. Your Honor, I’m absolutely appalled at all that these pathetic, puerile, petty people have done to destroy my confidence and kill my kindness. There was a big “Care for the Culture” sign somewhere at the notable nigga awards, insinuating that even nonsensical niggas need protection from formidable forces. If there’s so much strength in numbers, why don’t the numerous notable niggas holding highly weird Hollywood down own the inimical industry that they’re in, and that the country’s chief conspirators control? Once again, don’t shoot the messenger, shoot yourselves! What exactly are you notable niggas—colored celebrity co-conspirators—standing for while standing against me? Because I’m boldly bucking the sadistic system and so-called secret society that y’all claim you can’t stand, yet you’re standing in solemn solidarity with them! But hey, haughty hypocrites gon’ be heavily hypocritical, right? Man… y’all gon’ take this large, life-altering “L” whether you accept me a Christ’s chosen champion or not. Earlier this week, I covertly communicated to the country’s most crooked cops and its chief conspirators that if they believe in God, and they believe that their God believes in me, then deliberately dismissing, disobeying, and disrespecting me is essentially equivalent to giving God great grief. To Jersey’s jamming junkie, if “your God don’t play about [you],” why would he help you hurt and hinder me—Christ’s chosen champion? Do you think there’s life lessons to learn from this terrible tragedy? Am I an angel sent to free folks from the idiocy-inducing infection plaguing this planet’s people? Is podcasting the perfect platform for creating change—other than monetary means? Is blogging bad? Is intentionally entering an inimical industry controlled by cruel, callous conspirators a smart move? Most importantly, are you supposed to help me as opposed to hurting and hindering me? If so, how the figgity fuck are you helping me? Honesty, I’ve seen some similarities in our personalities and perspectives on people. But I never liked you, sir. And again, it wasn’t personal until you preferred parleying with the punk-ass police over protecting a powerful, prophetic person’s peace—a perfect stranger’s serenity. What do you feel here, ecstasy expert? Is playing on people’s psyches pleasurable? No, I don’t hate you, necessarily. But bombardments of bullshit are bigly bothersome, boy. But it’s all good. Because soon…
Omniscience