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Author Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade  (Read 438070 times)

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Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20130 on: March 28, 2020, 03:02:19 AM »
Art told Heatha it's her responsibility to talk about big issues, THAT's why she's talking about corona virus so much.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20131 on: March 28, 2020, 03:03:08 AM »
This show sounds defeated.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20132 on: March 28, 2020, 03:04:11 AM »
Heatha wants us to be good to each other.   What an original thought.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20133 on: March 28, 2020, 03:10:15 AM »
I wonder if Heather got her roof fixed yet?  I've been watching her site for the pictures of it that she said she was going to post a couple times, but I can't find them.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20134 on: March 28, 2020, 03:39:07 AM »
http://www.mediafire.com/file/wv094xonmktt3vv/OpenLines03272020.mp3/file

someone by the name of agent Birnes sent this to me through the Looking-Glass just now.

I guess this was tonight's show.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20135 on: March 28, 2020, 04:53:18 AM »
I wonder if Heather got her roof fixed yet?  I've been watching her site for the pictures of it that she said she was going to post a couple times, but I can't find them.

I doubt she can get a contractor to come out to her house now, and so she will spend the money on ďother thingsĒ and it will become her rolling cry fest grifter fallback.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20136 on: March 28, 2020, 04:53:35 AM »
Agent Birnes, I salute you!

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20137 on: March 28, 2020, 08:10:08 AM »
I wonder if Heather got her roof fixed yet?  I've been watching her site for the pictures of it that she said she was going to post a couple times, but I can't find them.

Can't Heather crawl up on her own roof and patch a few shingles herself...

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20138 on: March 28, 2020, 09:03:43 AM »
Can't Heather crawl up on her own roof and patch a few shingles herself...

She canít even walk in her own hallway without being crippled for months, shimmying onto a roof is asking for trouble.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20139 on: March 28, 2020, 09:13:37 AM »
That was so entertaining that I might have to listen to some of it again with my morning coffee.  :)

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20140 on: March 28, 2020, 09:33:54 AM »
She canít even walk in her own hallway without being crippled for months, shimmying onto a roof is asking for trouble.

But apparently she was prepared to climb a 50ft antenna tower for repairs to get her signal out ...

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20141 on: March 28, 2020, 09:48:09 AM »
That was so entertaining that I might have to listen to some of it again with my morning coffee.  :)

Half way through had to stop as I canít stomach a full show in one go, but so far I feel she has been pretty understanding of twerps ďI never listen to the news and i went in the grocery store and couldnít understand what was going onĒ (WTAF!??) and even people who just plain didnít want to believe.

Her list of places she goes to for news I find strange, not nearly international enough, and she has balls to complain about Trump given her audience.

I think making a big thing out of asking for money and saying she felt bad about it was a bit weak, fucks sake donít pretend just ask. That smacked of her previous disingenuousness.

Overall so far itís a decent show. She has certainly done an about turn on her understanding of Covid 19 ... and I have to say that takes guts.


Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20142 on: March 28, 2020, 10:02:40 AM »
She canít even walk in her own hallway without being crippled for months, shimmying onto a roof is asking for trouble.

Good thing she never attempted the Area 51 thingy.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20143 on: March 28, 2020, 01:16:36 PM »
This show sounds defeated.

You don't know the half of it.


So, here's the action, and for once, I'm giving it straight. I've been gearing up for a couple weeks now. Pull the trigger, pluck the hens, hoist the flag, dust off the rings. Publish. I had this whole plan set up, and by that I mean Plan, because the truth of Me, dear Gabbers, is that I've been tending to a truly bombshell, untold story from my own experience for the last 23 years. It's been percolating in the deep sauce, and has been fully ripe for about three years now. After Bell retired at the hands of a lone, deranged gunman--heh heh--I thought that I would wait a while, to ensure no one might paint me as simply hoaxing to ride the death coattail, and then I'd set it in motion. Whitley Strieber was gonna be my prime target. All I needed with him was five minutes, I swear. It was gonna be a gasser. You have no idea. Hell, I have no idea--the one time I got Whitley on the phone just as a simple weather balloon, I accidently scared the -l-y right out of his first name. I felt sad, as I meant him no harm whatsoever, but clearly the dude was panicked by just a few phrases from lil' ol' me. Perhaps at that point, I was already fearsome legend. I was working my hardest at being friendly, too, which in retrospect is likely a real red flag to anyone sensitive to being punked millions of times for multiple decades. Oops, my bad too much, I can really never tell until after. I wasn't there to spook him at all, just to find out if he would be willing to admit to remembering the event date.

23, that's a good number. Years, yeah? Actual yes. I've alluded to this fact before--careful, astute readers of what must pathetically termed "my work" on this site will know instantly to what I refer. (((Hi guys!))) And a few rare gems of lurkers, you know who you are, but I do not--there's a few stone cold bawlers around this place, they know me. Oh yes. They do. Oh, the event date? Sorry, I smoked it with the blockchain. Don't wonder about it right now. It'll come out later.

I do so wish that this was paranoid fantasy, just me talking mad, mad shit while mechanically refilling one coffee enema right after another. You've no idea. The reality of my life is that for exactly half of it, I've been holding on to my tongue and just shitposting "fuck you dawg" over and over at all those whinging imbeciles putting the poo-poo on all the U.F.O. speculation, while always only a brief daydream and a few keystrokes away from sparking a fest of crazy wild speculation for at least one or two hundred posts. Or maybe pages. Yet after 23 years, I'm not going to lie, it's a thrill to be finally over the line. I thought I would never feel like doing it to actual completion, as I am truly one of the most ardent fans of leisure my species has ever produced. And over this is, because the publishing plan that I mentioned before, is now toasted. Sorry. No special episode of Jack's Ancient Aliens. No box set release of Project Fap Book. No opportunity for the slavering hordes of shill-lackeys to at last rend their gaze on my pale, vulnerable, Author Form, and unleash their scenthounds upon my unique trail. 23 years of dreaming, meditative visions and the occasional sketch in Crayon, all that anticipation building solely, only in my mind, and after today... well, fuck it. Fuck it all and fucking no regrets. I'm changing horses right at the riverbank, everyone is completely fucking fired, S Corp docs shredded, coke and hookers on speed dial and the last of the credit line straight into an I.V. I'll be honest, I never really liked the idea of being some famous disco-closer with the book deals and the regular appearances on "radio" to drone on and on about non-falsifiable truths. I know me, see. I wouldn't last ten days of tame tapdance before whipping out the most obnoxious red pill stink bomb in the most odious way possible--I don't know what, but I do know me. Balls to the wall, and some Cabal lieutenant would just finally pulverize the fed up glass. I'd be marked for death blossom, and that'd be it, I've had plenty of warnings and my entire family has been murdered already, so it's not like I'd get any second chances. But that's not why I'm not going that route either. Gotta die sometime, and I think it would be a rare chance to field test some sigil magick for bulletproofing, just for the street cred. No, there's one single solitary reason that I've decided to cap off my 23 year pre-show-show-prep with a wall of text manifesto on an obscure backlot clapboard mech, and that is this: I am just fucking disgusted with the whole sorry fucking lot of you. I don't like to be so crass, without any avatars, but seriously, fuck all you people. I look around, and you what? This? This? Shit, I thought my house was bad, but to here it's a palace.

Part of it is the sudden realization that, if I were going to do this--and I have--the cultural landscape of today and my place within it basically mandates that I would have to actually break down my gorge and nausea and actually call in to MITD again. Or, Kingdom of Lies. Or whatever this lumbering monstrosity of #Legacy zombie cruft is calling itself now. And it's not stagefright or lack of confidence or even nervous nausea that has been the deciding factor, it's simply straight up vile revulsion at the merest glimpse of what this audio vomitorium has prolapsed itself into. Y'all come here for drive-bys, but have you actually looked at it lately? It's bile upon sputum upon toejam, from top to bottom. It's not even plumb.

I can't do it. I just can't do it. It's not even that I don't like Heather--finally, I can announce that I am wildly infatuated with her and have always been since before the test show, betcha couldn't tell tho--it's that I am profoundly embarrassed by what this shiteshow has let itself become, and by extension, the entirety of all the tuned in public. I in fact blame my self for this. 23 years, I could have opened up at any time before now. But, you know how it is, reserve guard status, optional project, so many other things to do, no one even knows that the release is coming, absolutely no pressure, just let it slide. And I honestly did think that someone with far more panache and style than I would show up to start the ball rolling long before now.

As we all of us know, the pickin's have been slimmin'. Alex Jones down, Joe Rogan up, are you actually shitting me? They may as well just slip the Soma right into the eyeball curve. It's gotten so bad, people are actually considering going back to books. To smash themselves in the face with. And what would there be to follow a drop on #Legacy with? Jesus, I'd have to end up on Twitch. Fuck that. Just strangle me below the ribcage and call it an epilogue. I'm getting the nightsweats just thinking about it. Nope, nope, nope. Fuck radio, fuck streaming, and fuck the entire machine that hoovers everything up and posts emoticons and spyware. I was sincere, I was eager, I was engaged--then I took a step back and looked at I was doing and recognized that no result could ever come of my contribution to history that wouldn't make me cringe deep down inside for the entirety of my life. Now that I've lost everything in my life that matters, my enhanced freedoms

I often thought that I was going to let Bell have the first swing at it, given that he was on it during the day of the event, but let's face it, the dude was weaksauce in a black and white shadow box. He excelled in his time, but that time was filled with nipshits who actually had to wonder if OK City was unusual or not. Savage intellects back then, word. And no social media network to burn the gags. But that world is gone.

Today's world is one in which any unusual story can be instantly cross-indexed and verified by robots. Long before you've read this post, the thinking cloud has already cataloged and linked the whole she-bang. The robotic information sphere contains all of my posts from all of my identities from all of the fringe-cringe forums that I've used. This, I say with equal parts of pride and deep, enduring shame, is frankly a lot of absolute balderdash, and sprinkled here and there, little bits of text that reference the outlandish, but true fact, that on November 14, 1997, I had a close contact experience with sphere-shaped interdimensional beings.

Go ahead, say it's bullshit. I want you to. The longer this stays buried, the more robots will frenetically search for any and all related details. And, no, I don't care if it finds them. The robots aren't going to get the full story out of me any more than any of you are going to. One quick peek, and that's the end of it. I'm finally free of my duty, and free of all you lying dispshit asshats forever, thank God. No proof posted here: go on, dismiss this. Do it. I want you to. The elimination of any desire for any fame or any fortune has dramatically sped up my exit strategy. Totally worth it, you thugs can shove your hush money flat.

Case closed. Fuck off. You had your chance. You all had your chances. Go find someone else carrying an alien implant to be your dance monkey. Pack a lunch, Fuckos.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20144 on: March 28, 2020, 02:45:16 PM »
Why Bellgab, Jack? You reference other forums, and other identities... Why chose this backwoods forum (on a less visited thread) to make the post?

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20145 on: March 28, 2020, 04:09:49 PM »
Good thing she never attempted the Area 51 thingy.
I'm going when it happens


#Legacy

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20146 on: March 28, 2020, 04:10:59 PM »
I'm going when it happens


#Legacy

I hope she doesn't hurt her ankle again.  She'll be off the air for months and months.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20147 on: March 28, 2020, 04:53:44 PM »
I hope she doesn't hurt her ankle again.  She'll be off the air for months and months.
The ankle is the most important part to speaking radio.  Youíd know that if you spoke it.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20148 on: March 29, 2020, 12:44:51 AM »
Emergency GabCast minutes away...

https://bellgab.com/index.php?action=shoutbox;popup

573-837-4948

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20149 on: March 29, 2020, 09:02:15 AM »
whatever happen with art's bench?
I saw a picture of the plaque but don't think it was installed yet.
Last I heard the city council/parks and rec or some authority had approved it
but the donations went unaccounted for.
Maybe it got finished I'm not sure.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20150 on: March 29, 2020, 09:59:56 AM »
whatever happen with art's bench?
I saw a picture of the plaque but don't think it was installed yet.
Last I heard the city council/parks and rec or some authority had approved it
but the donations went unaccounted for.
Maybe it got finished I'm not sure.

It was finished, itís in the park with a plaque on a stick next to it.

The donation drama is still ongoing I believe.

You need to go to Pahrump and get a pic for us :)

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20151 on: March 29, 2020, 10:21:02 AM »
thank you..
I was curious.
On a stick?..you'd think some riffraff would walk off with it.
well, we shall see.

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20152 on: March 29, 2020, 12:00:51 PM »
You don't know the half of it.


So, here's the action, and for once, I'm giving it straight. I've been gearing up for a couple weeks now. Pull the trigger, pluck the hens, hoist the flag, dust off the rings. Publish. I had this whole plan set up, and by that I mean Plan, because the truth of Me, dear Gabbers, is that I've been tending to a truly bombshell, untold story from my own experience for the last 23 years. It's been percolating in the deep sauce, and has been fully ripe for about three years now. After Bell retired at the hands of a lone, deranged gunman--heh heh--I thought that I would wait a while, to ensure no one might paint me as simply hoaxing to ride the death coattail, and then I'd set it in motion. Whitley Strieber was gonna be my prime target. All I needed with him was five minutes, I swear. It was gonna be a gasser. You have no idea. Hell, I have no idea--the one time I got Whitley on the phone just as a simple weather balloon, I accidently scared the -l-y right out of his first name. I felt sad, as I meant him no harm whatsoever, but clearly the dude was panicked by just a few phrases from lil' ol' me. Perhaps at that point, I was already fearsome legend. I was working my hardest at being friendly, too, which in retrospect is likely a real red flag to anyone sensitive to being punked millions of times for multiple decades. Oops, my bad too much, I can really never tell until after. I wasn't there to spook him at all, just to find out if he would be willing to admit to remembering the event date.

23, that's a good number. Years, yeah? Actual yes. I've alluded to this fact before--careful, astute readers of what must pathetically termed "my work" on this site will know instantly to what I refer. (((Hi guys!))) And a few rare gems of lurkers, you know who you are, but I do not--there's a few stone cold bawlers around this place, they know me. Oh yes. They do. Oh, the event date? Sorry, I smoked it with the blockchain. Don't wonder about it right now. It'll come out later.

I do so wish that this was paranoid fantasy, just me talking mad, mad shit while mechanically refilling one coffee enema right after another. You've no idea. The reality of my life is that for exactly half of it, I've been holding on to my tongue and just shitposting "fuck you dawg" over and over at all those whinging imbeciles putting the poo-poo on all the U.F.O. speculation, while always only a brief daydream and a few keystrokes away from sparking a fest of crazy wild speculation for at least one or two hundred posts. Or maybe pages. Yet after 23 years, I'm not going to lie, it's a thrill to be finally over the line. I thought I would never feel like doing it to actual completion, as I am truly one of the most ardent fans of leisure my species has ever produced. And over this is, because the publishing plan that I mentioned before, is now toasted. Sorry. No special episode of Jack's Ancient Aliens. No box set release of Project Fap Book. No opportunity for the slavering hordes of shill-lackeys to at last rend their gaze on my pale, vulnerable, Author Form, and unleash their scenthounds upon my unique trail. 23 years of dreaming, meditative visions and the occasional sketch in Crayon, all that anticipation building solely, only in my mind, and after today... well, fuck it. Fuck it all and fucking no regrets. I'm changing horses right at the riverbank, everyone is completely fucking fired, S Corp docs shredded, coke and hookers on speed dial and the last of the credit line straight into an I.V. I'll be honest, I never really liked the idea of being some famous disco-closer with the book deals and the regular appearances on "radio" to drone on and on about non-falsifiable truths. I know me, see. I wouldn't last ten days of tame tapdance before whipping out the most obnoxious red pill stink bomb in the most odious way possible--I don't know what, but I do know me. Balls to the wall, and some Cabal lieutenant would just finally pulverize the fed up glass. I'd be marked for death blossom, and that'd be it, I've had plenty of warnings and my entire family has been murdered already, so it's not like I'd get any second chances. But that's not why I'm not going that route either. Gotta die sometime, and I think it would be a rare chance to field test some sigil magick for bulletproofing, just for the street cred. No, there's one single solitary reason that I've decided to cap off my 23 year pre-show-show-prep with a wall of text manifesto on an obscure backlot clapboard mech, and that is this: I am just fucking disgusted with the whole sorry fucking lot of you. I don't like to be so crass, without any avatars, but seriously, fuck all you people. I look around, and you what? This? This? Shit, I thought my house was bad, but to here it's a palace.

Part of it is the sudden realization that, if I were going to do this--and I have--the cultural landscape of today and my place within it basically mandates that I would have to actually break down my gorge and nausea and actually call in to MITD again. Or, Kingdom of Lies. Or whatever this lumbering monstrosity of #Legacy zombie cruft is calling itself now. And it's not stagefright or lack of confidence or even nervous nausea that has been the deciding factor, it's simply straight up vile revulsion at the merest glimpse of what this audio vomitorium has prolapsed itself into. Y'all come here for drive-bys, but have you actually looked at it lately? It's bile upon sputum upon toejam, from top to bottom. It's not even plumb.

I can't do it. I just can't do it. It's not even that I don't like Heather--finally, I can announce that I am wildly infatuated with her and have always been since before the test show, betcha couldn't tell tho--it's that I am profoundly embarrassed by what this shiteshow has let itself become, and by extension, the entirety of all the tuned in public. I in fact blame my self for this. 23 years, I could have opened up at any time before now. But, you know how it is, reserve guard status, optional project, so many other things to do, no one even knows that the release is coming, absolutely no pressure, just let it slide. And I honestly did think that someone with far more panache and style than I would show up to start the ball rolling long before now.

As we all of us know, the pickin's have been slimmin'. Alex Jones down, Joe Rogan up, are you actually shitting me? They may as well just slip the Soma right into the eyeball curve. It's gotten so bad, people are actually considering going back to books. To smash themselves in the face with. And what would there be to follow a drop on #Legacy with? Jesus, I'd have to end up on Twitch. Fuck that. Just strangle me below the ribcage and call it an epilogue. I'm getting the nightsweats just thinking about it. Nope, nope, nope. Fuck radio, fuck streaming, and fuck the entire machine that hoovers everything up and posts emoticons and spyware. I was sincere, I was eager, I was engaged--then I took a step back and looked at I was doing and recognized that no result could ever come of my contribution to history that wouldn't make me cringe deep down inside for the entirety of my life. Now that I've lost everything in my life that matters, my enhanced freedoms

I often thought that I was going to let Bell have the first swing at it, given that he was on it during the day of the event, but let's face it, the dude was weaksauce in a black and white shadow box. He excelled in his time, but that time was filled with nipshits who actually had to wonder if OK City was unusual or not. Savage intellects back then, word. And no social media network to burn the gags. But that world is gone.

Today's world is one in which any unusual story can be instantly cross-indexed and verified by robots. Long before you've read this post, the thinking cloud has already cataloged and linked the whole she-bang. The robotic information sphere contains all of my posts from all of my identities from all of the fringe-cringe forums that I've used. This, I say with equal parts of pride and deep, enduring shame, is frankly a lot of absolute balderdash, and sprinkled here and there, little bits of text that reference the outlandish, but true fact, that on November 14, 1997, I had a close contact experience with sphere-shaped interdimensional beings.

Go ahead, say it's bullshit. I want you to. The longer this stays buried, the more robots will frenetically search for any and all related details. And, no, I don't care if it finds them. The robots aren't going to get the full story out of me any more than any of you are going to. One quick peek, and that's the end of it. I'm finally free of my duty, and free of all you lying dispshit asshats forever, thank God. No proof posted here: go on, dismiss this. Do it. I want you to. The elimination of any desire for any fame or any fortune has dramatically sped up my exit strategy. Totally worth it, you thugs can shove your hush money flat.

Case closed. Fuck off. You had your chance. You all had your chances. Go find someone else carrying an alien implant to be your dance monkey. Pack a lunch, Fuckos.
Dooooood!

Mikey!


I love this.  I honestly believe that you should start your own blog and let fly on things pertinent, impertinent, Jackstar or fuck all.  You could call it 'Pack Your Lunch, It's gonna be a while.'     

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20153 on: March 29, 2020, 09:27:27 PM »
yeah! Come on!
Let's do this!
24 hours!

#Legacy

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20154 on: March 30, 2020, 10:11:04 AM »
She still has a show!?!

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20155 on: March 30, 2020, 10:50:39 AM »
She still has a show!?!

For at least 2 more weeks or so anyway

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20156 on: March 30, 2020, 10:52:37 AM »
For at least 2 more weeks or so anyway

Are the wheels starting to get a bit wobbly now?  I haven't been following this revival but if the pattern holds.  Well.  You know................................

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20157 on: March 30, 2020, 10:53:26 AM »
Are the wheels starting to get a bit wobbly now?  I haven't been following this revival but if the pattern holds.  Well.  You know................................

A few small wobbles, but itís coming up to the 13th April....

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20158 on: March 30, 2020, 10:55:08 AM »
A few small wobbles, but itís coming up to the 13th April....

Ha!

Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade
« Reply #20159 on: March 30, 2020, 07:12:53 PM »
aaaaaaaaand we have a show tonight!
Yeahh!

#Legacy