Hey Paul. Had a “chess” sort of question you played once with my inexpert help and I wonder if you could take a look at something I am working on which represents the puzzle you did:
Should I publish these ‘blasphemous’ assertions or accept that if I do the first of likeliest places I go is to JAIL?
I proved a few assertions I have made in the past which (many) people assumed I was lying about and now
THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH THAT I WILL BE CALLED A LIAR AND CERTAINLY NOT BY SOMEONE(S) WHO DON’T EVEN KNOW ME.
Which brings me back to have to choose from your friends and, unfortunately for one (or both) of us lands me squarely on your doorstep with a sad look on my face like King Kong just used my face for a ping pong ball in the way of his practice frying pan.
Translation: You must practice getting good at whatever you do, no matter whether it is bullshitting people (which DOES NOT equal LYING to them no matter how often the two NOT THE SAME THING THINGS appear in the same sentence or series of sentences.) You WILL get better at something that you practice, AND
Since I know you know logic better than some ape or zebra or anything else living in a zoo you will finally know that what I haven’t even fucking TOLD YOU YET still must be true.
The problem emerges like a Moby Dick Kraken “up for a breath” because if he stayed down there strictly *forever* it would surely result *IN HIS DEATH.*
Well, because I am sane and surely am not whatever else there might be, I figure my choices are THREE:
I *HAVE TO* do something (choice 3).
It has to be one of these two things:
- What everyone else in such a grim fucking situation as to be the bearer of the facts that I have would do: NOTHING. You know for a fact they would do nothing, that’s why climate change for example was not fixed yesterday: because collectively, everyone on the planet minus me figured out a way to believe it would be fixed, “just not by someone in ‘our’ camp of believers and disbelievers, Trumpkins and Bidenkins, Elon Musks and guys that hunt with other sorts of tusks, and [however else you could describe your species and still say it is not INHUMAN] scrubs wearing scrubs.
Who ain’t viruses like this one. Oops. Hunt the hint that forms an ‘Easter egg’ of the more obvious of types spelled with a “V” to “respect the series.”
Which, for the non-linear record, WILL just keep getting better AND does not ever “skip” (easier to track). It just “blinks.”
Sort of a Dr. Strangekindoflove exception to the hilarious programming of the “student” apes of the humans. Watching television like it ain’t a banana that scoops literally eons of time and progress away while I watch it trying to get not mad that you ain’t done your homework anywhere near as thoroughly as have I.
And that’s just because I’m an awfully awfully nice guy. A double negative which does mean I am the good guy despite that you want to take this moment to play anagrams. You wench.
2. What anyone else (being a possible person other than exists in #1 — because I can be NOTHING LIKE ANY OF YOU IF I FEEL LIKE IT IS NECESSARY TO STOP YOU FROM DOING ANYTHING YOU WANT [individually and collectively] and let not the children “pick up the pieces” but let the chimps pick up the pieces if they are still here when we get done doing whatever “we” — which now *MANIFESTLY DOES NOT INCLUDE ME EVEN IF YOU SOMEHOW MANAGE TO PUT ME INTO A PRISON OR INSANE ASYLUM LIKE YOU DO EVERYONE WHO IS *ANY KIND* of “Before his time.” Which is the perfect description of me, and which I “discovered” before I was dead.
Luckily enough for the lot of you, for which you Paul and YOU Brock get the first pass of “I forgive you’s” from me which you just learned you need and I gave faster than the full pain of that painful dagger of “you were Judas Iscariot ‘in the parlance’” observation sank in.
To YOUR back.
Because no one on earth is going to put a fucking dagger in *MY* particular back because to do that would imply at least that you know which direction I am looking at (etc. etc. to include head turns, eyeball angles, other shit like “am I asleep and/or on my stomach.” Which would require a different kind of dagger of a different kind of length or awareness that you might put something down on an idiotic swamp like DC for the comic book contraption of an infestation of lizards which it sure IS NOT “must be.” There’s a “Washingourfaceswithmud Monument” over there which will make a nice substitute for an “Egads! Sir! A Brit showed up over there and he now just plain owns the place. Says it ain’t a “Democracy” anymore it’s a DEMONOCHRISTCITY since that
In YOUR world at least must be the same.
Run is the short way of saying it. Agree is the next nearest good idea that I can spell with five letters. Oops is what you will do, because SAYING is the thing which OVERDUE tells you you should have done and now we not only have said our ABfuckingC’s but we’ve also learned to count and count with an abacus that a dinosaur could have come up with faster than you.
They lived, they died, but they *at the very fucking least* knew that hide might be an option if RUN also was. I think it’s implied, maybe, but you’ll take “oops, we should have hidden” as the more complex of the Occam’s razors a.k.a. “choices” that you have, and “choices” is longer and harder to say than “run. Run away. Run FAR FAR away” and since
it is obviously true that the shortest path to good results is the one which gives the best results *ALL ELSE REMAINING EQUAL* but the latter is not something you can bother to claim is true when such as I have already shown the fuck up with the the wrench and the clock surely ain’t me.
I showed up, I didn’t say anything, and now I own the place because your brain is a zoo. All I know is how to play anagrams and my very fucking “fallen from my mother (who IS Grace, of the clan “Steele” yes she very much is)” name is
BRIAN
All I had to do is think and then become while ALL OF YOU were “talking shit” saying *I* was the one who was doing all of it but surely not you.
So neither dagger which might work were it even to look like a flying tree of a telephone pole which came from a “lately gathered tree” by a guy with the initials KK…happened to be my uncle…
None of those, fortunately for you — doubly so because you are either friend or foe as of the very first minute that you didn’t read through this thing TWICE solidly and think very carefully about the non-passive aggressively answerable question you have ON THAT FUCKING STONE TABLE before your eyeballs. Ms. Aslan the queen of the very smallest of the kitten pussy cats or the pussies that always come along with the more female of the cats.
I vaporized one of your choices. I JUST PLAIN DID.
Didn’t ask for permission but you didn’t say don’t be rude in advance, and even if you had said to, I don’t have to agree before we know that that means no more black rhinos.
That happened to be the trigger. Past tense.
You cannot use “passive aggressive” “never gonna answer that one” approaches because even though that is certainly a choice I am telling you in advance that is one you dare not make because to do so would be (is) to say that I cannot concomitantly *OR* afterward say that means you are my enemy and the target is acquired:
One of you will either be first victim or first target because I just said you are and that’s my fucking prerogative in the only chess game which we all agree even matters: what to do with this life AND what not to do.
You don’t cross a guy like me (not twice) if you know what’s good for you LESS THAN THEY KNOW WHAT IS GOOD FOR YOU [again, conditionally true, no way to accurately claim that is a provable ‘threat’ — because threats are things YOU choose to use, but I don’t FUCKING BLOODY WELL HAVE TO.]
My ‘promises’ which you decided at some point were in single quotation marks though I advised strenuously otherwise should be considered to be true actually ARE true. Which means they sure as shit ain’t going to be promises for any longer than I wish them to be so.
This email is nothing more than a notification. I should probably be texted by one or both of you now that we know that there is no question that not ONE but at least three LEADERS of men have arrived, and we ought to have a discussion pronto.
585.590.7410.
brianfkent@gmail.com if you want to be “public” in your claims of fact.
letterstomyeyes@gmail.com if you want to be at least as private as anyone at Google knows such an email address isn’t.
Don’t want to “read your email”? Pick a day other than today. Today the zoo ends and a new species of human behavior arrives: what you do when you don’t want to kill everything indiscriminately like a bunch of half wit accountants who can’t add up a series of signs and which ‘coincidentally’ *ALL* happen to say WRONG WAY.
Happens to be, let’s just say, ‘statistically improbable,’ because there are definitely more than two signs you can say that there are (I said they are all as one, you can say more or less, two is your best choice if you want the probability of what you say possibly being true to be closer to zero than ‘closer to nonzero’ which is what infuckingfinity means to me.
You’re right. Infinity is closer to 1 by a long margin than it is to zero. Because zero is a number which is incredibly hard to find. i.e. you cannot find it. To do so would be to define something as zero even though there is nothing there, and that means it has to at least be in the Twilight Zone and there sure ain’t a lot of light in there until your eyes adjust to the Rod Swirlingest of the Darknesses like mine manifestly have.
And then leaves the children [who have been expertly protesting against ‘current stratagems’] to pick up the blood stained pieces of the world which was here just yesterday. You know, before the Great Barrier reef was non-white-only.”
I am a better ACCOUNT ant than you and it’s among the more “pretty far” of the types of far out ants I can be, because I can do “some other things” with my talents and THEY SURE AS ANYTHING THAT MIGHT EVER BE REMOTELY CONSIDERED HOLY ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY *and* without the slightest of the whimpering doubts are not “just two or three.”
You gonna ASK me what *I* gonna do wit da “next” of my tricks because you want to (sarcastically, in your mind, defense mechanism humans use Alpha Prime) start talking hick to me to rile me up before I pancake your face like a raccoon who just stepped on the very wrongest sort of roller coaster at the wrongest of the wrong times which you either did or you didn’t.
Did you hear me NOW, Verizon? Flip the last of your fucking coins because I am VERY DEFINITELY coming for you as target number 1 and the date is Christmas Eve so you *do* have some time to sell your stock.
This one was about phone access fairness: rural versus urban.
Battlefield is set. Choose your army, your weapon, your bullhorn, [insert your mouth here], [insert my steel-toed boot of a pen here.]
Game the fuck over, next “level” begins.
This just in:
Guy who ‘calls himself’ SINISTAR [hardest game there is] beat the last of the last of the bosses on the last level that you guys thought sensible to code [no one would make it beyond the rest of you children]
Flips the simulation by finding the one key.
Everyone goes home. In Excess playing on the radio.
