BigJimsWornOutTires
Fire
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
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"He won't last another week," a blonde MILF said to a heavyset sugardaddy working along a line assembly of drone products. She sighs and he winces. Almost immediately, a forklift smashes into a stack of crates, causing a domino effect; a row of thousands of dormant robots scatter across the crackless concrete floor as the workers disperse in panic.
Space travel is a ridiculous fantasy. If we could, another alien civilization would have. And if they found us, an army of enhanced intelligence wielding mind-boggling weapons would've occupied our world. They wouldn't sneak around like devious children playing pranks. They would conquer us first and Handmaid Tale us later. And you can't say aliens are here disguised as Jews. That's pathetic paranoia, untreated mental illness likely fueled by intoxication. "Muh the Earth is flat, reeeee."
Soul travel
Ah, yes, explore the stars by consciousness. It's the only true way to travel such massive space. Why risk your body and lifespan when you could hack and possess foreign biological machines? Just ask Nikola Tesla. Oh, wait... never mind. He died many years ago. Oh, well. Perhaps ask Trump to share his private documents from his family's collection of intelligence theft... which was a trap. Yummy cheese, mmm.
Imagine having the ability to speak through multiple people across the timelines concurrently. Like multitasking! Ah, yes, there were many "You know who."
My brain is a tower but with limited vocabulary and slow functioning. I learn what THEY need me to for communication and genuine evolution purposes. I tweak the internet for THEM. I share truth and personal tribulation. But not misinformation butt-hurt people spread, like after the fall of Hitler and his teamsters. Ugh, the Nazis were gassing all prisoners of war, including Germany's criminals, sex offenders, faggots, and thieves, not just greedy insurrectionists.
THEY are with me 24/7. They are in my thoughts and dreams—they are my muse. Recently, while I was at a casino, I caught them placing an idea into three separate moments inside my timeline. "He's snooping again." They reacted. "Let him." Indeed.
Traveling the universe inside a passel of consciousness, yes... yes... yes
I would never copy and paste this text to the internet. It would make me sound crazy. And creepy! Ugh. However, they are telling me to copy and paste this text on the internet. Shaking my head. Sometimes I'm wrong about what I assume. And so I must oblige, or there will be a reckoning. Perhaps, many of you call it a curse. And I don't appreciate inconveniences—it is done.
When will I reach the telescopic task?
My flesh is decaying, you know this... right, Sun? My heart warns me nightly as I massage a specific area... hoping I can loosen it up. There is a pain that feels contained inside my chest. Must be an artery-clogging. Ugh, knowing how the medical industry took advantage of our ignorance, I could never trust them again. So I must endure until this pipeline of blood solidifies and the heart says no more.
I'm sending out an SOS—I need two hundred million dollars ASAP
Not sure what to do with that much money, but I'm thinking about purchasing a factory. I'll hire hardworking MAGA employees. But there is a condition. There is always one with such an irrational sudden thought proposal. I would work undercover as an entry-level forklift operator. Sure, they'll know I'm the owner of the factory but aren't allowed to address me as anything other than the new worker who won't last another week. "He constantly runs into things because of that stupid Meta Quest headset he wears," a coworker snitches on me to the shift manager. "He makes us feel unsafe."
While nodding, Skippy says, "I know, but I can't fire the boss."
"I didn't ask for this crazy shit!" the employee continues to express his unchecked bigotry. "Can't we call the government or someone to stop this?"
"You do know Musk works for the government, right?" Skippy said while embracing Chuck's shoulder with a grip of authority. "And let's not forget about Big Daddy. Both are business people who don't belong in DC. Yet, here we are." He concludes as they both admire the seven-foot statue of Trump resting at the corner of the lunchroom next to the catholic paintings of angels and saints.
Perplexed, Chuck reacts, "The fuck that has to do with the skitzo boss who thinks he's an entry level who won't last another week?"
"Exactly," Skippy assured him and patted his shoulder. Suddenly, a thunder alerts them to the work area below.
Space travel is a ridiculous fantasy. If we could, another alien civilization would have. And if they found us, an army of enhanced intelligence wielding mind-boggling weapons would've occupied our world. They wouldn't sneak around like devious children playing pranks. They would conquer us first and Handmaid Tale us later. And you can't say aliens are here disguised as Jews. That's pathetic paranoia, untreated mental illness likely fueled by intoxication. "Muh the Earth is flat, reeeee."
Soul travel
Ah, yes, explore the stars by consciousness. It's the only true way to travel such massive space. Why risk your body and lifespan when you could hack and possess foreign biological machines? Just ask Nikola Tesla. Oh, wait... never mind. He died many years ago. Oh, well. Perhaps ask Trump to share his private documents from his family's collection of intelligence theft... which was a trap. Yummy cheese, mmm.
Imagine having the ability to speak through multiple people across the timelines concurrently. Like multitasking! Ah, yes, there were many "You know who."
My brain is a tower but with limited vocabulary and slow functioning. I learn what THEY need me to for communication and genuine evolution purposes. I tweak the internet for THEM. I share truth and personal tribulation. But not misinformation butt-hurt people spread, like after the fall of Hitler and his teamsters. Ugh, the Nazis were gassing all prisoners of war, including Germany's criminals, sex offenders, faggots, and thieves, not just greedy insurrectionists.
THEY are with me 24/7. They are in my thoughts and dreams—they are my muse. Recently, while I was at a casino, I caught them placing an idea into three separate moments inside my timeline. "He's snooping again." They reacted. "Let him." Indeed.
Traveling the universe inside a passel of consciousness, yes... yes... yes
I would never copy and paste this text to the internet. It would make me sound crazy. And creepy! Ugh. However, they are telling me to copy and paste this text on the internet. Shaking my head. Sometimes I'm wrong about what I assume. And so I must oblige, or there will be a reckoning. Perhaps, many of you call it a curse. And I don't appreciate inconveniences—it is done.
When will I reach the telescopic task?
My flesh is decaying, you know this... right, Sun? My heart warns me nightly as I massage a specific area... hoping I can loosen it up. There is a pain that feels contained inside my chest. Must be an artery-clogging. Ugh, knowing how the medical industry took advantage of our ignorance, I could never trust them again. So I must endure until this pipeline of blood solidifies and the heart says no more.
I'm sending out an SOS—I need two hundred million dollars ASAP
Not sure what to do with that much money, but I'm thinking about purchasing a factory. I'll hire hardworking MAGA employees. But there is a condition. There is always one with such an irrational sudden thought proposal. I would work undercover as an entry-level forklift operator. Sure, they'll know I'm the owner of the factory but aren't allowed to address me as anything other than the new worker who won't last another week. "He constantly runs into things because of that stupid Meta Quest headset he wears," a coworker snitches on me to the shift manager. "He makes us feel unsafe."
While nodding, Skippy says, "I know, but I can't fire the boss."
"I didn't ask for this crazy shit!" the employee continues to express his unchecked bigotry. "Can't we call the government or someone to stop this?"
"You do know Musk works for the government, right?" Skippy said while embracing Chuck's shoulder with a grip of authority. "And let's not forget about Big Daddy. Both are business people who don't belong in DC. Yet, here we are." He concludes as they both admire the seven-foot statue of Trump resting at the corner of the lunchroom next to the catholic paintings of angels and saints.
Perplexed, Chuck reacts, "The fuck that has to do with the skitzo boss who thinks he's an entry level who won't last another week?"
"Exactly," Skippy assured him and patted his shoulder. Suddenly, a thunder alerts them to the work area below.
