I was mad.
You could have been fooled into thinking I was mad.
"Carl, bro, she's 15, if I leave her here, what are you REALLY going to do? Be honest with me.."
Asking imbecilic questions since the age of 3.
He shrugs his shoulder and drops the last words I ever heard him say "I mean, what do you expect me to do? I'll call you later when I'm done if you want, she should still be drunk by then"
Be honest, now. Too honest.
I doubt he ever knew or at least remembered what hit him. HIs dad actually heard the hit and came out, went right back inside. That's how bad it was.
I'm just that insane. He never saw my insanity coming. It's how we Christians have been winning since the B.C.
I am not a violent person, but I have some deeply rooted seething rage and fury I keep bottled up inside for whatever reason
Comes in handy when I covet my friend's child, time for Sexy. But first, deeply rooted seething rage and fury I keep bottled up inside for an unspecified reason.
, and pity the man who feels it's force when I lose control.
Here I admit I'm clinically insane.
But I'm not CRAZY, okay!!
In another thread I wrote a brilliant post that was pathetically written; because brilliant insight is my thing. Brilliant writing is not. Imagining that the two are one is as moronic as imagining that my incapacity to do the latter precludes my capacity to consistently deliver the former.
Not only is that not the case; it is illogical to imagine that someone who could write brilliantly would be motivated to write brilliant insight. There are a few exceptions, of course; le Carre, Sam Harris, etc. But if you're a professional writer, why would you be - professionally - writing your Self out of a job? Who is going to pay you to write pain-relieving Truth?
All the money is in deceit, lies and the fabrication / manufacturing / conditioning of misery. It's all about Needy. Which means it's all about Fear.
And this means professional writers are never going to get paid unless they...lie to your stupid faggot faces. As if 99.9% of them can even hold a candle to my brilliance anyway. But then I'm not talking about feelings and opinions. I own your stupid fucking tiny faces. I always have. I never will again.
The least you can do is help yourselves. And help me help you by culling your infernal psychotic narcissistic screaming where you imagine You are important. You would like that, I imagine. I have no desire to be important. It's funny how that makes me important. And makes you worthless. Ponder on that, Canadian Toddler scum. You know who I'm talking to.
I'm writing about very important shit. I'd be writing it a lot better were it not for the filthy screaming and tantrum-throwing of Toddlers like you and Bob. That girl I was writing about, she did to me what Mike did to his friend. And what your filthy whore mother did to you to make you imagine lying was in your best interests.
She fucked you so good.
Now shut the fuck up, and let people that aren't sub-worthless do what they need to do. No one gives a fuck about your important personal shit.
And no one, not even your whore mother, gives a flying fuck about you.
Linear Mode
