BigJimsWornOutTires
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There will be part three.
There is always another part to everything. And there is always a muse behind great vanity. But what happens when that inspiration recedes from view?
Ah, yes, things are not what they seem.
When the little, insignificant people admire wealthy bums, expect them to hog their time. Expect them to commit blasphemy with no shame, guilt, or a bit of fear. They will wear a sparkling cross, portraying an image. And if that doesn't arouse attention, they'll wear a bigger one next time. They have no boundaries. They don't give a fuck about your puny life. If they could, they would keep you behind your phone 24/7. Just stay the fuck away from them.
Fun fact: A genuine Christian never promotes the cruel death of the Messiah. But wolves decked with holy garbs would not only mock you with this heartbreaking reminder, but they'd lead you to the edge of a cliff. Below this is the bottomless pit.
Decency is a delusion to intoxicated frauds. But these soulless poverty architects will promote themselves as the most decent of society. Whatever thickens their gravy is their Huckleberry. But sometimes, with some people, there is a handler behind the curtains. And this motherfucker's sales pitch is Oscar material. And sometimes, the frightened gold spoon licker has no choice but to comply.
Society got programmed by Hollywood's fantasies. And Gen Zoids got groomed by all sides of the spectrum. They were teased with vampire nonsense. A vigga's skin would burn if it came in contact with a cross. A vigga couldn't voice holy words because their mouths would be ablaze in flames. And thus, they were told to believe and trust anyone who preaches or says words representing the creator. Shaking my head. Whoever said the Devil couldn't wear your faith?
In general, society is accustomed to two components of a narrative. Though on occasion, there are three. For example. An asshole instigates a dipshit against a person minding their own business. The first part is the initial instigation. The second is the dipshit confronting the target. The final is the payoff.
The most juicy part is the victim becoming the villain.
Mainstream media, including local news networks, call it expurgation. Whatever generates the most attention becomes the lion's share. Suppose a rimjob interviews a feller complaining about the noise in his neighborhood. He tells her, "Your fucking bosses are building casinos everywhere! I can't sleep." He then talks to himself. Guess which part will air? And instead of the original title, Casino Noise, the reporter names it: Mental Health on the Roulette Wheel.
All my life, I knew the sky was blue during the day. Everyone I know believes this truth. Most of my family knows this certainty. But none of us is filthy rich. We do not know government people. We are not related to anyone displayed on the television screen. We are simple folks living simple lives.
A group of creepy spiders herky-jerk into the public arena. They insist the sky is red. Yellow. Purple. Green. Any color but blue. On the contrary, calling it that color is considered hateful. And people would rather not hurt a person's feelings. Ah, yes, using sentiments for opportunity, attention, and advantage. Nothing new under the sun.
Another group of weirdos, known to promote the idea, You Can Be Anyone, joined forces with the creeps. These weirdos have inspired serial killers, cannibals, and perverted offenders. 'You Can Be Anyone' ideology applies to anyone.
Meanwhile, wealthy society and their puppets in the government embraced this dumb them down agenda. Indeed, ignorance generates prosperity.
One day, a rich feller decided to call the sky blue. He made it his mission to inform the groomed dummies about this undeniable fact. People listened. The same people who ignored me. The same ones who disagreed with my people and relatives. Those people listened to him because of his wealthy rank. But not all folks of his tier agreed. Some still insisted the sky was pink. Crimson. Brownish. And even Lukeemookee, a nonexistent color. And their families were worth more money than the rich feller.
One weekend, four men with scars on their faces pay him a visit. These guys have connections from palaces to Timbuktu. So he listened with wide eyes and a rapid heartbeat. They told him he had to stop his autistic vanity adventure. It was upsetting wealthy families. Their children believed the sky was any color but blue. And they believed life doesn't start until they say when. Ugh, the feller wasn't having it. He told them, "I am right, you are wrong. Teehee. You can't make me stop. Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah. You can't make me stop. Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah." He stuck his tongue out while wiggling his head.
Guess what happened later?
Readers missed the first part of why I posted so many threads about war with China. And that's because I didn't share it with them... and for a good reason.
With apology, I successfully delayed World War Three. Neither was this for vanity nor to extend my life. And it wasn't for people. Fuck society. And fuck you, reader. I did it for Robot Foot Buddy. It's a custom-made robot about the size of an opossum. It's designed to massage my feet while complimenting me with an AI voice. I requested it to say, "You have some mighty fine feet, Sir."
"Oh my, look at these lovely toes."
"Did these feet just fall out from the Heavens?"
Ordering this mechanical creature was no easy ride. From 2021 to 2024, I contacted dozens of robot manufacturers. Many of them ghosted me. Some asked about my medical history. But one factory in China replied, "We make foot buddy. It take six to eight months."
Knowing our nations were on the brink of war that could cause a problem with shipment, I got to work and ejaculated countless reverse psychology threads. You may have read one about the scheduled war with China.
I knew how arrogant the leaders were. I knew they would deliberately postpone it out of spite, just to show me. "Oh, he wants to take the glory of calling this war with China?" Deep State Bob says. "Fuck him. Let's make sure this doesn't happen until 2026."
Exactly. I was counting on it!
Last week, Robot Foot Buddy finally arrived. However, it's not what I expected. A cheap Walmart toy that misses my foot constantly. But it does speak. "Sir, you nice feet." Close enough.
Now that my selfish desire was fulfilled, the big boys can now go to war. Or not. I don't give a fuck either way. I got what I wanted. And that was Robot Foot Buddy.
There is always another part to everything. And there is always a muse behind great vanity. But what happens when that inspiration recedes from view?
Ah, yes, things are not what they seem.
When the little, insignificant people admire wealthy bums, expect them to hog their time. Expect them to commit blasphemy with no shame, guilt, or a bit of fear. They will wear a sparkling cross, portraying an image. And if that doesn't arouse attention, they'll wear a bigger one next time. They have no boundaries. They don't give a fuck about your puny life. If they could, they would keep you behind your phone 24/7. Just stay the fuck away from them.
Fun fact: A genuine Christian never promotes the cruel death of the Messiah. But wolves decked with holy garbs would not only mock you with this heartbreaking reminder, but they'd lead you to the edge of a cliff. Below this is the bottomless pit.
Decency is a delusion to intoxicated frauds. But these soulless poverty architects will promote themselves as the most decent of society. Whatever thickens their gravy is their Huckleberry. But sometimes, with some people, there is a handler behind the curtains. And this motherfucker's sales pitch is Oscar material. And sometimes, the frightened gold spoon licker has no choice but to comply.
Society got programmed by Hollywood's fantasies. And Gen Zoids got groomed by all sides of the spectrum. They were teased with vampire nonsense. A vigga's skin would burn if it came in contact with a cross. A vigga couldn't voice holy words because their mouths would be ablaze in flames. And thus, they were told to believe and trust anyone who preaches or says words representing the creator. Shaking my head. Whoever said the Devil couldn't wear your faith?
In general, society is accustomed to two components of a narrative. Though on occasion, there are three. For example. An asshole instigates a dipshit against a person minding their own business. The first part is the initial instigation. The second is the dipshit confronting the target. The final is the payoff.
The most juicy part is the victim becoming the villain.
Mainstream media, including local news networks, call it expurgation. Whatever generates the most attention becomes the lion's share. Suppose a rimjob interviews a feller complaining about the noise in his neighborhood. He tells her, "Your fucking bosses are building casinos everywhere! I can't sleep." He then talks to himself. Guess which part will air? And instead of the original title, Casino Noise, the reporter names it: Mental Health on the Roulette Wheel.
All my life, I knew the sky was blue during the day. Everyone I know believes this truth. Most of my family knows this certainty. But none of us is filthy rich. We do not know government people. We are not related to anyone displayed on the television screen. We are simple folks living simple lives.
A group of creepy spiders herky-jerk into the public arena. They insist the sky is red. Yellow. Purple. Green. Any color but blue. On the contrary, calling it that color is considered hateful. And people would rather not hurt a person's feelings. Ah, yes, using sentiments for opportunity, attention, and advantage. Nothing new under the sun.
Another group of weirdos, known to promote the idea, You Can Be Anyone, joined forces with the creeps. These weirdos have inspired serial killers, cannibals, and perverted offenders. 'You Can Be Anyone' ideology applies to anyone.
Meanwhile, wealthy society and their puppets in the government embraced this dumb them down agenda. Indeed, ignorance generates prosperity.
One day, a rich feller decided to call the sky blue. He made it his mission to inform the groomed dummies about this undeniable fact. People listened. The same people who ignored me. The same ones who disagreed with my people and relatives. Those people listened to him because of his wealthy rank. But not all folks of his tier agreed. Some still insisted the sky was pink. Crimson. Brownish. And even Lukeemookee, a nonexistent color. And their families were worth more money than the rich feller.
One weekend, four men with scars on their faces pay him a visit. These guys have connections from palaces to Timbuktu. So he listened with wide eyes and a rapid heartbeat. They told him he had to stop his autistic vanity adventure. It was upsetting wealthy families. Their children believed the sky was any color but blue. And they believed life doesn't start until they say when. Ugh, the feller wasn't having it. He told them, "I am right, you are wrong. Teehee. You can't make me stop. Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah. You can't make me stop. Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah." He stuck his tongue out while wiggling his head.
Guess what happened later?
Readers missed the first part of why I posted so many threads about war with China. And that's because I didn't share it with them... and for a good reason.
With apology, I successfully delayed World War Three. Neither was this for vanity nor to extend my life. And it wasn't for people. Fuck society. And fuck you, reader. I did it for Robot Foot Buddy. It's a custom-made robot about the size of an opossum. It's designed to massage my feet while complimenting me with an AI voice. I requested it to say, "You have some mighty fine feet, Sir."
"Oh my, look at these lovely toes."
"Did these feet just fall out from the Heavens?"
Ordering this mechanical creature was no easy ride. From 2021 to 2024, I contacted dozens of robot manufacturers. Many of them ghosted me. Some asked about my medical history. But one factory in China replied, "We make foot buddy. It take six to eight months."
Knowing our nations were on the brink of war that could cause a problem with shipment, I got to work and ejaculated countless reverse psychology threads. You may have read one about the scheduled war with China.
I knew how arrogant the leaders were. I knew they would deliberately postpone it out of spite, just to show me. "Oh, he wants to take the glory of calling this war with China?" Deep State Bob says. "Fuck him. Let's make sure this doesn't happen until 2026."
Exactly. I was counting on it!
Last week, Robot Foot Buddy finally arrived. However, it's not what I expected. A cheap Walmart toy that misses my foot constantly. But it does speak. "Sir, you nice feet." Close enough.
Now that my selfish desire was fulfilled, the big boys can now go to war. Or not. I don't give a fuck either way. I got what I wanted. And that was Robot Foot Buddy.
