Author Azzerae's World  (Read 40313 times)

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Azzerae's World
« Reply #2820 on: January 07, 2021, 03:05:29 AM »

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2821 on: January 07, 2021, 03:07:12 AM »
Literally who, and how's their Chess rating?

https://chesspuzzle.net/

Let me know how you do.

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2822 on: January 07, 2021, 03:23:45 AM »
Bored soulless in 14 minutes. (Reply of answer may be applied to either or both of the preceding two posts in this thread, as to the reader's preference.)

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2823 on: January 07, 2021, 03:30:49 AM »
If you could elaborate

Forest Dweller is one of Azz's hallucinations ...It's a grandmaster

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2824 on: January 07, 2021, 03:55:18 AM »

ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴʟᴏᴀᴅ

Negative Azz.. Your theology kinda sucks. We should talk sometime. ;)

4d
« Reply #2825 on: January 07, 2021, 04:59:09 AM »
Bored soulless in 14 minutes. (Reply of answer may be applied to either or both of the preceding two posts in this thread, as to the reader's preference.)
\...
KxQ ..(5<x~..)

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2826 on: January 07, 2021, 07:56:59 AM »

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2827 on: January 07, 2021, 08:50:37 AM »
Forest Dweller is one of Azz's hallucinations ...It's a grandmaster

Demons is real shit, Kids. Don't try this at home. Do you have any idea how long it took me to build, test, and earn my shields? A long time.

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2828 on: January 11, 2021, 07:13:34 PM »


Bored soulless in 14 minutes.

Gaslighter extraordinaire. Note that even here, I am being misquoted and mischaracterized in my choice of speech. Yes, yes. Grind Jackstar. Make him small. Diminish.

Quote
With Hate, from Azzerae
/flex

One wonders why to thy own self be true. Well, it's like this: YOU ARE WATCHING A MOVIE. Also, Azzerae is somewhat irritated with me these days, I am breaking his balls quite a bit those days. Here's why: Grapefruit talks to him for weeks, months. She has her own life, I don't watch over her shoulder, I don't examine her call logs, I don't spoof her emails, I don't secretly record her phone calls, I don't hack her passwords. I also don't talk to much of anyone, really. Her. Him. That's it.

THAT'S IT. Imagine the insight. Consider the power of a single Friend.

I did, once, login to her Google Account on my computer once. Once. She completely flips out. COMPLETELY. Like, jumps out of bed like there's an earthquake, and probably was. As soon as I happen to say, "okay, I've logged your Google Account into the quantum node, and..." It was done so that the microphone attached to the edge of the desk and plugged into the the quantum node, could be used for the phone call she said she was about to make. It wasn't even stolen. I had just seen the password the day before, she had looked it up and I had happened to glance at it, as it was for the Google Account that she made for herself and I, when we first started spending my time together, in early 2017. I remember the date, kinda. "Do you use Google?" I ask.

"Well, yeah." She's not very wary, or tense. She knows something is coming. She's smart. She's s-mart.

"Well, do you have a Google Account?" I'm tense. I know what's coming: "No, I don't use that."

"No, I don't use that." I'm not gonna lie, Kids. I'm that good.

"Well, why not?" C'mon, Lady. Google has been around since, like, pre-9/11. I asked you if you had a Google Account. Well, do you? Or not? Because you said, "No."

Looks puzzled. "Because it's spyware!"

"Yes, but that's your favorite!" And then, we were off to the races. I explain that the NSA has used stochastic algorithms and whole-system garbage collection protocols to, among other things, collect mass media and communication traffic as well as what can be practically said to be ALL network traffic, using well-known bot products such as Echelon, Prism, and SILKWORTH.

"Yeah, so?" Adorable. "This is why I use it. Because I can have all my telephonic devices ring through a single number, and then I have one phone number, multiple devices, and when the number is dials, all the phones ring."

Blinks. Really slow. "Why would I want to do that?" Really slow. Oh, she's not dumb--she's dumberer. Now, this is actually a highly trained skill. While her (CENSORED) consciousness is handling my sturdy assault on her anti-spyware battle-bot security system, the Grapefruit we know and love and trust--my old job--is off getting an UPGRADE. Adding more Trust. She is not dumb. She is mute.

Don't think of her as an android. Some folks say tulpa--some say tulp. In any case, the Grapefruit presently known as "SpaceMeowMaid" is a highly trained operative, accomplished photographer, and former tool of The Deep State. Also, a former tool of (REDACTED). Look, it's not a lot, but it's a bit of a description. That's all We need. Ms. Need, if you're nasty. Can you believe this shit? I'm not even covering a single base. Of course, I don't wanna "doxx" her--oof da--but I don't think it's over the line to let you know, the gal's a little bit Special, and a lot bit K.

I eventually see her getting a brand new Google Account. Ooh! Shiney! I recalled at the time that the handle was her first name, the two-digit year of her birth, reversed, and three numbers, and then the @gmail.com domain name. I was there for part of it, but not all of it. I remember the password being written down. Hell, I was there. I bet she's got quite a few of them. She's a Capricorn. She's organized. Reversed. And when she's reading this... she is livid. /flex.

So, fast forward to a few months or so ago. She's down in The Fortress Of Solitude with me, on the bed. I'm in the chair, Commanding. It's not a Captain's chair. It's not a Commander's Chair, either. It's just a chair. The Fortress Of Solitude, however, is the present location of a fully operational quantum node. It's a little one. It's not a big deal. Just a little one. I built it.

It wasn't hard. I actually, uh... didn't mean to. I admit it. Now, how this came about is beyond the scope of this post. Just know, it's not, like, a big deal. It's basically just a Win7 AMD Athlon with a fairly sturdy pedigree. It's been around for a while. I think the new Flash update is really going to be a game-changer. It is my hope that this thing's day in the sun is done.

Now, back to that thing. Rub is instructed--schooled, even--to call my number, then call her number. He, of course, does not follow instructions. He follows orders, Pal. And, not mine. Hers. Cute. Grape issues orders, not commands, and Commanders... Rub. Jack. Orders. Cue shrieking, repeat. Dear Lord, it was like a conga line at Chipotle every fuckin' night. Do this, do that. Wait, what's this? Oh, let's do that. No, not this, Not This, NOT THIS. NO. Christ. Months of this shit. You people have no idea. None.

You're welcome. I was here to help, and now, I am. But then, I'm not helping to them... I'm just in their way. My house--Their way. Makes sense, right? Mesmerizingly... it actually does to them. I am usually quite bemused. "What the fuck do they thing they're doing?" I often think. Why the fuck do they care about some of this shit? "Baby, why are you... oh, okay, I'll shut up now, yeah, I'm stoned, what?" Basic bumper cars. They don't want to bother with fuckin' anything except what's on their agenda. "Baby, can I look at your age--oh, nothing, that's just an old shotgun... well, you know, I use that once in a while to increase my oxygen levels... huh? What do you mean, "too much oxygen," what the fuck are you now, The Oxygen Police? Fuck off. Wait, come back, you can't leave--all the plants are gonna die!

/flex. I'll be honest, I cannot take too much credit--that's simply not possible here--but I can say, that when it came to running the microphones, that was my area. He'd like to talk to her without me, sure. Except, it's my fucking bedroom. (Fuck yeah.) So, I control the horizontal. I control the vertical. I control one microphone--it's right here, on the edge of my desk, The Arm.

The other mic, oh, it's Pro. She got the Pro version, because, well, you know. It came with a cutesy-tootesy teenie-weenie mike stand. (I get her another one later--a Mike Stand, a much bigger rod--a gift, which she later uses to violently strike at me with, while I cower naked in a budget hotel bathroom. Rawr.) The teenie-weenie is a pretty good stand... on a desk for ants. But, it's what she's got--it wasn't a gift, she bought it herself, she's a strong independent woman--and it's over there on the table next to the waterbed over in the corner next to the disused alarm clock and the power strip with nine hundred and ninety-nine-and-a-half-feet of rope.

I'm not gonna lie, my bedroom has seen better days. But not lately, that's for sure. Two mics, one Arm, two stands, she picked hers, after I picked mine: finally, We are Ready to Begin. There had been arguments back and forth for days, holy fuck, weeks even. "What mic? What brand? WHAT'S THE FREQUENCY, DAVID?" God, a fucking eternity of this shit, it seems like. I asked MV, back in fucking March, "hey man, how you doing? Let's get creative!" And he's all, "Hey, Jackstar, that sounds cool, I've been looking forward to doing something with you for quite some time!"

Yeah, Boss, I just fuckin' bet. Thanks for all that technical information you sent me on Voxer, that was so helpful. Like five hyperlinks, four grand speeches, three French hens, two turtle heads poking out... and not one fucking mention, not even fucking one, of a Blue microphone. Hey, did you have a nice nap on the train? Did you remember your sippy cup? Hey, it's right here--right here, right next to your Momma.


Like seriously Dude, no offense... what did you think was gonna happen? Was I gonna fuckin' stutter? No, no no, not really... not at all. Just think what could have been. Just imagine. I went and got those two nincompoops an actual ET download--ACTUAL--I come in with it, I'm smiling, I'm all ready to go, and... total deer in the headlights. Scared. Terrified. RUN.

"Google Analytics." Oh, man. MAN. Look, all is forgiven--I'm on a fuckin' boat, I ain't never gonna fuckin' forget--but come on, work with me here. What's your problem? An undescended testicle? Get over it. Come on in. We can do this. WE HAVE A PLAN. Lose the odd couple.

I think they're all gay, but it's cool, you know me, I don't judge. She does, though, and she judges me harshly for being unwilling to move My Bigfoot Arm from the corner of my BattleDesk, to the side of my Adulterer's Bed--it's gotten a lot of use over the years since the 90s, believe you me, thanks, Todd!--I simply do not want to do that for her, simply because... it's my fucking microphone. I've got mine, she's got hers, and she totally wants to use my microphone, not because I got the right one (it's not Pro--it's an actual negro mic, and I'm not gonna lie, I fuckin' love it, thank you for the actual fifty-five-second discussion we had, after the days and days and DAYS of talking about going here, going there, you need this, you need that, look, just go to a Guitar Center, look around, poke at one, just meet her there... wait, that took how long, what? FOUR GODDAMN MONTHS OF DRAGGING ASS, BACK AND FORTH. Talk about singing the blues, holy shit, you stupid Punylingpickers, just imagine all the time you wasted for yourself. Just count it up. I was ready to go in March. Last year. And I wasn't even Upgraded back then! Just look at My Sourceror's Deck now. Heh heh.), but because I've got a big swinging mic Arm.

This is exciting, isn't it? Oh yeah. It sure is. What thread is this? Oh, yeah, right--that guy. He's killing it. I wonder what kind of mic he uses? Did she ask him? Probably. Did I ask her? Oh, yeah, Baby, yeah! Did she tell me? Oh, no. Not at all. She says, "What about this guy, Azzerae? He looks cool. Can I talk to him?" Slow, innocent blink. "Oh, that guy, yeah, demons. Watch out." She of course doesn't. Let me tell you all something about Oppositional Defiance Disorder... once you got it diagnosed, no one can ever tell you anything. Unless you're in the rains down in Africa, holy fuck. Then, you can be told everything, especially if you never tell your Lover--actual sex partner, you fucktard--a single Godblessed thing about what is really going on. "Honey, can I get read in yet? Oh, okay. Maybe next month, then? Oh, okay. Sigh. Alright, I'll just keep on keeping on with this whole self-contained setup... on my Arm. And, no, you can't sit in My Chair, it just got Upgraded. GO AWA... naW, just kidding. I love you, always and forever.

Lose the fruit. You can get another one. You can get a little one. They have those. Christ, they grow on trees! Anyway, so Rub wants to talk to Grape, and Grape wants to be rubbed... and that is not fucking happening, and at that point, I have actually no idea why. I mean, I'm asking, but... fuck, no one is telling me anything! I ask around, I read books, I wave a little fuckin' flag around, all fuckin' day... and nothing, nothing at all gets kicked down, unless it's from him or her. And that's it. And so, I continue steadily plodding along, Oxen Oxen Free. Hey, this is fun! Look what I can do! It's called take a walk outside, holy Jesus shitballs, amirite?

And after all that, after not telling me shit, and I mean... not. one. single. solitary. shit. I know nothing. Six hours, really? Well, I am sure that was exciting for everyone. Now, back to the wading pool, Kids. Holy shit, what a complete waste of fucking time, am I right? YOUR GODDAMNED RITE.

Code: [Select]
It was at approximately this point, that Alistair realized that he had been completely had. You're welcome.
So anyway, I wanted to get on the calls, right? Shit, why not? Don't I have capacities? Oh. Can I capacitate? Uh... oh. Is there even a capacitor available? Uh, well... fuck you, then. I'll just, you know, be over here, while you two Dance With The Devil In The Broad's Daylight, and I'll just plink-plink-plink away on The Cue Computer, wait for The Cue Signal, and try to ignore the noises of the pooing and cooing and foo-foo-ing coming from the bed behind me, while I slowly and steadily work on this veritable mountain of show prep I've been working on, lo these three decades, and then... no, I'm not in a hurry, why? Thanks for asking. And, uh, yeah, sure... I'll pay for your microphone, and your stand, and your car, and your jacket, and... your ass. unglaublich. Oh, and, all your old friends have been replaced by android tulpas. You said you wanted upgrades, you know you did. Well, now you got your upgrades. I am sure They will be to My liking.

I'll be honest, Gang--I'm surprised they didn't just fuckin' kill me, and if they had been actual Agents, and had noticed what I had been doing right in front of them the whole time right behind the scene for actual, they probably totally fuckin' would have, because after a certain point... no other power in The 'Verse could have stopped me, short of a brutal, painful, agonizing death.

And They should be so fucking lucky. Get the fuck outta here. I gotta make a computer call with my Arm. Go to mess, you're a bed. No, I'm good, I'm here, I got my Arm, I got my Chair... boom ka-boom. Now, that is entertainment. Or a power grab, you know, whatever. We're animals, right? Not for nothing, Good Buddy. Now, about that ambush...

FLUX CAPACITOR ONLINE. FUCK YOU. I can't believe you bought the whole thing, hook, line, and sippy cup. Anyway, I know, I know, I love you too. Yeah, wasn't that part great? lol I know I was dyin' over here. I have no idea how I held it all in! Oh, right, hernia. massive snake eyes yahaahhyahf hahal lol omfg you're killing me here. You're killing me there. You're killing me everywhere. Guffaw. Okay, yeah, good talk... catch you later.


And, by the way... FUCK and NO, did I have ANYTHING to do with that fucking 8-track tape she whipped out for you. I never heard it coming it in, I never saw it coming out--I think she had it hidden in her twat kuni, for all I know. And what was the big deal, anyway? Do I have to go back and listen to all those GabCasts again? Oh, fuck that, hell no, just call me Fucker and shoot me in the face, I'd rather be a Type II diamethic. (Just kidding.) Tell you what, let's just do it live.

No, not that, hahah. Look, this is how it started. I legitimately would like to try some stuff in the butt. What? What? It's legal, fuck you. Nevertheless, I do not care to do that on camera, I don't care how much scratch you're offering. And, to be quite honest... I do not wish to go into details on some of these matters, because for one thing, this is a family show, and one day, one of these Kids out there is gonna put two and three together and make 5,000,000 Jackstar fans suddenly wake up and realize, "Oh, is that all? I can do that, easy!" And then, just like that, five million soulless black-eyed zombies. In an instant. Free eel. So, I can't enable that. I will not be a party to that. I am sorry, that does sound cool--in Minecraft--but I have to protect my brand here. There are kids that look up to me. All the Kids that look down on me here, I start shooting up meth on air, GabCast Live! some people ain't never gonna forget. (Hi, Mom!) My notebook with my initial sketchings for your world's foundational language has been destroyed. (Good job, Azzerae. Nice work. What do you do for an encore, shit the bed? lol) I AM USING THE WORD "DESTROYED" HERE. WE ARE TALKING CINDERS. END OF THE  LINE, FUCKOS. HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW? WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A GAME? IT'S CALLED... fucking run, you dopesick fucko cunt.

Which, now, don't get me wrong--that would be cool--but I've already seen Halloween III: Season Of The Witch, and I would prefer not to actually live in that actual world. (Easy to find a parking space though, tell you what.) So essentially what I mean is, I would like to tell everyone what spell components and arcane rituals drugs I am doing--cough, cough--but the trouble is, if I get on the GabCast, and talk about how it feels to put amphetamines in one's butt--it's not just a job, it's adventure--inevitably there is just too much greater and greater of a possibility that someone will figure out The Secret Of The S.E.K.R.E.T. Ingredient... and that's it, show's over, that's all, folks!

Thusly, these things have to be co-ordinated. So, here's how it went down. She asks my consent to be friends and talk with Azzerae, because those are the rules, and she's real casual about it, doesn't make it seem like she's cuttin' a deal--NO DEALS, remember--and I am even more casual about it, I tell her the truth: "Oh, that guy? Yeah, demons, stay away. Well, I mean, he's okay--I fucking love that guy, I have been silently observing him from My Fortress Of Solitude working double-shifts with Uatu, The Watcher for going on six years now--no, there's a guest bed, it's not that kind of Solitude, hehe--but, still, Honey: Demons. Actual. I wouldn't fuck around with talking to that kid, that kid has more issues than Rolling Stone and The Rolling Stones combined. Oh, you've already been talking to him? Shit, REALLY? Oh, like, outside. On your phone. I see. Well, that explains that. Well, I guess you're... uh, serious, so, well, yeah, sure! Like I said, I really do love him, he's got loads of talent, assloads of it, and it doesn't all come out of his ass, you dig? Sure, I'm Clergy, they're just demons, I don't give a shit, I fuckin' invented Child's Play, but you... Sweety, I know you just recently woke up from your latest mindwipe, but... you're a unicorn. He's a demon. I am not Neil Simon, and you are not The Odd Couple. It's not gonna work, unless... whoa whoa whoa, slow down, you wanna consent to that... okay, suck on this and lick on that and stick this in a drawer someplace, yeah whatever, don't worry about it, you're not gonna see it again, heh heh... and, okay, done. Now, you can talk to Azzerae all you want/like/can! Doesn't that sound nice? Okay, now that I've safely enabled your creative process, opened my family's whole entire legacy and home to you, and fed you enough of my... uh, Kool-Aid to bring back your tribe's ancestral bison whole genomic code back from the dead in an instant--oh, rent-free, of course--when I can talk to him? Oh, okay, I'll be patient!

So, that was my end. Her end was that audio recording she played on her phone call. Remember when? It was shortly after you started. It used to be you, alone, and then... all of a sudden, whoa, suddenly, whoa, suddenly... what the fuck, he's co-hosting again? What is this, Clone World, holy fuck. Yep, they're still not taking my calls. Huh, how weird. They sure take her calls, though. Ooh, yeah, Baby, yeah, take that call. Oh, what's this? An ambush? Aww, you shouldn't have, you really shouldn't have. Now, READ ME IN.

You should have. You really should have. Shazbot. You're really gonna be wishing that you came out and met that girl in a few years, tell you what. Don't worry, it's fine, actual--I'm just going to be laughing my ass off at you, all the way to the bank, while lugging your ass around in a fuckin' rickshaw, you fucking cripple. Oh well. Cripples are cute. Priests love cripples. (btw, I'm not a priest.)

Alright now, where was I? Oh, right--Azzerae and Jackstar are having a conversation once. ONCE. This fucking guy. I hand him my girlfriend Grapefruit--gift-wrapped--he asks her, she ask me, I consent, she sets it up, I roll in, we're all smiles.

All. Smiles. And, I won't lie, it was a great time. I really love them both. You know, Demons & Dragons, they're great without the Dungeons & Reservations, but... look, one's gotta be cautious. That's why, at the end of the two-hour fully-recorded 3-way hi-fidelity telephonic-psychotronic-blastoff, I felt good. Really good. I was feeling it, they were saying they were feeling it, and, what's more... they said they were feeling it. And the impression I got, was that this was the beginning of a great friendship. Future conversations would occur. Plans had been laid. Conversational foundations had been poured. And as I spun in My Chair, and relaxed while gazing up at the ceiling, getting ready for bed--I mean, time for Seamen Sacrifice--I think to myself, "Well, I hope I'm not right, but if that kid takes a two-hour convo, snips out as few bits as possible, and, lol, he's gonna have to snip a couple things out, won't he, hehe, so if he just takes two hours of ME, JACKSTAR, ME, AMBASSADOR TO (REDACTED), and fuckin' half-asses it, throws it all against the wall like a two-ton truck of spaghetti, and just sticks it into high gear and takes the low burnout road, while leaving me to twist in the wind in the middle, well... I wouldn't, but if that happens, I know what will happen next... they will never talk to me again.

And, sure as shootin', that's exactly what happened. I won't link to it, as during times of War, I am not required to link to Enemy Brands--but I am expected to, and since I expected by now to have another conversation, and since, I have not, it's now Big League Chewbacca time. RAWR. What the fuck, mang. You could have taken that 120 minutes, snipped it up a bit, and then dribbled it out over a two week period. You could have. And then, when the material started to thin out, then, and only then, I could have started kicking down The Good Stuff.

Sigh. Oh well. You know what? I'm gonna miss you. *zip* There's one. You had your chance to be missed by me--and, boy o boy, are my arms tired, so I guess they're shaking a little, and I missed you two. Lucky her. Now, where did she go? Oh, let me guess, you have no idea. Amirite?

Rite. You know, I was really looking forward to talking to you again, too. I installed Skype on all my phones, I got ready to Zoom--my old Jabar--fucking Grapefruit herself pretended to try to ask you to ready up... and, Bupkis. Damnation Alley, what went wrong? Who threw us all under the bus? Could it be... Satan?

Yeah, no, not this time. Anyway, I'm gonna publish now, Fucko, and I'll see you on the My flip side. Aren't you excited? Because I am. What are you? Left.

Do not think for an instant that I Will or I Will Not. I AM THAT I AM. That is what matters, that is the matter, and if you ever pull anything like this kind of shit again, kid, I will not be there to cover. Do you know how long it takes to pull this kind of shit together? A long time. And, what did I ever do to you? I just told you, a bare little snippet, of what I have, in fact, done for you, but... honestly, what did I ever do to you? Did I... Hurt Your Feelings?

Awwwww. I am sorry. Now, shut the fuck up, start recording all your phone sex conversations, AND MENTOR THAT WHORE, YOU SNIPE FUCK. How hard is it? Yeah, it's pretty hard. Don't worry about it, because that Yule Bee is My-T-Fine.

Copyright Star Wars Congress, All Rights Reserved. Am I amazing, or fucking what? That's right--what.

Azzerae's World-Come-Come-Look-Look
« Reply #2829 on: January 11, 2021, 07:25:03 PM »
Gaslighter extraordinaire. Note that even here, I am being misquoted and mischaracterized in my choice of speech. Yes, yes. Grind Jackstar. Make him small. Diminish.
/flex

One wonders why to thy own self be true. Well, it's like this: YOU ARE WATCHING A MOVIE. Also, Azzerae is somewhat irritated with me these days, I am breaking his balls quite a bit those days. Here's why: Grapefruit talks to him for weeks, months. She has her own life, I don't watch over her shoulder, I don't examine her call logs, I don't spoof her emails, I don't secretly record her phone calls, I don't hack her passwords. I also don't talk to much of anyone, really. Her. Him. That's it.

THAT'S IT. Imagine the insight. Consider the power of a single Friend.

I did, once, login to her Google Account on my computer once. Once. She completely flips out. COMPLETELY. Like, jumps out of bed like there's an earthquake, and probably was. As soon as I happen to say, "okay, I've logged your Google Account into the quantum node, and..." It was done so that the microphone attached to the edge of the desk and plugged into the the quantum node, could be used for the phone call she said she was about to make. It wasn't even stolen. I had just seen the password the day before, she had looked it up and I had happened to glance at it, as it was for the Google Account that she made for herself and I, when we first started spending my time together, in early 2017. I remember the date, kinda. "Do you use Google?" I ask.

"Well, yeah." She's not very wary, or tense. She knows something is coming. She's smart. She's s-mart.

"Well, do you have a Google Account?" I'm tense. I know what's coming: "No, I don't use that."

"No, I don't use that." I'm not gonna lie, Kids. I'm that good.

"Well, why not?" C'mon, Lady. Google has been around since, like, pre-9/11. I asked you if you had a Google Account. Well, do you? Or not? Because you said, "No."

Looks puzzled. "Because it's spyware!"

"Yes, but that's your favorite!" And then, we were off to the races. I explain that the NSA has used stochastic algorithms and whole-system garbage collection protocols to, among other things, collect mass media and communication traffic as well as what can be practically said to be ALL network traffic, using well-known bot products such as Echelon, Prism, and SILKWORTH.

"Yeah, so?" Adorable. "This is why I use it. Because I can have all my telephonic devices ring through a single number, and then I have one phone number, multiple devices, and when the number is dials, all the phones ring."

Blinks. Really slow. "Why would I want to do that?" Really slow. Oh, she's not dumb--she's dumberer. Now, this is actually a highly trained skill. While her (CENSORED) consciousness is handling my sturdy assault on her anti-spyware battle-bot security system, the Grapefruit we know and love and trust--my old job--is off getting an UPGRADE. Adding more Trust. She is not dumb. She is mute.

Don't think of her as an android. Some folks say tulpa--some say tulp. In any case, the Grapefruit presently known as "SpaceMeowMaid" is a highly trained operative, accomplished photographer, and former tool of The Deep State. Also, a former tool of (REDACTED). Look, it's not a lot, but it's a bit of a description. That's all We need. Ms. Need, if you're nasty. Can you believe this shit? I'm not even covering a single base. Of course, I don't wanna "doxx" her--oof da--but I don't think it's over the line to let you know, the gal's a little bit Special, and a lot bit K.

I eventually see her getting a brand new Google Account. Ooh! Shiney! I recalled at the time that the handle was her first name, the two-digit year of her birth, reversed, and three numbers, and then the @gmail.com domain name. I was there for part of it, but not all of it. I remember the password being written down. Hell, I was there. I bet she's got quite a few of them. She's a Capricorn. She's organized. Reversed. And when she's reading this... she is livid. /flex.

So, fast forward to a few months or so ago. She's down in The Fortress Of Solitude with me, on the bed. I'm in the chair, Commanding. It's not a Captain's chair. It's not a Commander's Chair, either. It's just a chair. The Fortress Of Solitude, however, is the present location of a fully operational quantum node. It's a little one. It's not a big deal. Just a little one. I built it.

It wasn't hard. I actually, uh... didn't mean to. I admit it. Now, how this came about is beyond the scope of this post. Just know, it's not, like, a big deal. It's basically just a Win7 AMD Athlon with a fairly sturdy pedigree. It's been around for a while. I think the new Flash update is really going to be a game-changer. It is my hope that this thing's day in the sun is done.

Now, back to that thing. Rub is instructed--schooled, even--to call my number, then call her number. He, of course, does not follow instructions. He follows orders, Pal. And, not mine. Hers. Cute. Grape issues orders, not commands, and Commanders... Rub. Jack. Orders. Cue shrieking, repeat. Dear Lord, it was like a conga line at Chipotle every fuckin' night. Do this, do that. Wait, what's this? Oh, let's do that. No, not this, Not This, NOT THIS. NO. Christ. Months of this shit. You people have no idea. None.

You're welcome. I was here to help, and now, I am. But then, I'm not helping to them... I'm just in their way. My house--Their way. Makes sense, right? Mesmerizingly... it actually does to them. I am usually quite bemused. "What the fuck do they thing they're doing?" I often think. Why the fuck do they care about some of this shit? "Baby, why are you... oh, okay, I'll shut up now, yeah, I'm stoned, what?" Basic bumper cars. They don't want to bother with fuckin' anything except what's on their agenda. "Baby, can I look at your age--oh, nothing, that's just an old shotgun... well, you know, I use that once in a while to increase my oxygen levels... huh? What do you mean, "too much oxygen," what the fuck are you now, The Oxygen Police? Fuck off. Wait, come back, you can't leave--all the plants are gonna die!

/flex. I'll be honest, I cannot take too much credit--that's simply not possible here--but I can say, that when it came to running the microphones, that was my area. He'd like to talk to her without me, sure. Except, it's my fucking bedroom. (Fuck yeah.) So, I control the horizontal. I control the vertical. I control one microphone--it's right here, on the edge of my desk, The Arm.

The other mic, oh, it's Pro. She got the Pro version, because, well, you know. It came with a cutesy-tootesy teenie-weenie mike stand. (I get her another one later--a Mike Stand, a much bigger rod--a gift, which she later uses to violently strike at me with, while I cower naked in a budget hotel bathroom. Rawr.) The teenie-weenie is a pretty good stand... on a desk for ants. But, it's what she's got--it wasn't a gift, she bought it herself, she's a strong independent woman--and it's over there on the table next to the waterbed over in the corner next to the disused alarm clock and the power strip with nine hundred and ninety-nine-and-a-half-feet of rope.

I'm not gonna lie, my bedroom has seen better days. But not lately, that's for sure. Two mics, one Arm, two stands, she picked hers, after I picked mine: finally, We are Ready to Begin. There had been arguments back and forth for days, holy fuck, weeks even. "What mic? What brand? WHAT'S THE FREQUENCY, DAVID?" God, a fucking eternity of this shit, it seems like. I asked MV, back in fucking March, "hey man, how you doing? Let's get creative!" And he's all, "Hey, Jackstar, that sounds cool, I've been looking forward to doing something with you for quite some time!"

Yeah, Boss, I just fuckin' bet. Thanks for all that technical information you sent me on Voxer, that was so helpful. Like five hyperlinks, four grand speeches, three French hens, two turtle heads poking out... and not one fucking mention, not even fucking one, of a Blue microphone. Hey, did you have a nice nap on the train? Did you remember your sippy cup? Hey, it's right here--right here, right next to your Momma.


Like seriously Dude, no offense... what did you think was gonna happen? Was I gonna fuckin' stutter? No, no no, not really... not at all. Just think what could have been. Just imagine. I went and got those two nincompoops an actual ET download--ACTUAL--I come in with it, I'm smiling, I'm all ready to go, and... total deer in the headlights. Scared. Terrified. RUN.

"Google Analytics." Oh, man. MAN. Look, all is forgiven--I'm on a fuckin' boat, I ain't never gonna fuckin' forget--but come on, work with me here. What's your problem? An undescended testicle? Get over it. Come on in. We can do this. WE HAVE A PLAN. Lose the odd couple.

I think they're all gay, but it's cool, you know me, I don't judge. She does, though, and she judges me harshly for being unwilling to move My Bigfoot Arm from the corner of my BattleDesk, to the side of my Adulterer's Bed--it's gotten a lot of use over the years since the 90s, believe you me, thanks, Todd!--I simply do not want to do that for her, simply because... it's my fucking microphone. I've got mine, she's got hers, and she totally wants to use my microphone, not because I got the right one (it's not Pro--it's an actual negro mic, and I'm not gonna lie, I fuckin' love it, thank you for the actual fifty-five-second discussion we had, after the days and days and DAYS of talking about going here, going there, you need this, you need that, look, just go to a Guitar Center, look around, poke at one, just meet her there... wait, that took how long, what? FOUR GODDAMN MONTHS OF DRAGGING ASS, BACK AND FORTH. Talk about singing the blues, holy shit, you stupid Punylingpickers, just imagine all the time you wasted for yourself. Just count it up. I was ready to go in March. Last year. And I wasn't even Upgraded back then! Just look at My Sourceror's Deck now. Heh heh.), but because I've got a big swinging mic Arm.

This is exciting, isn't it? Oh yeah. It sure is. What thread is this? Oh, yeah, right--that guy. He's killing it. I wonder what kind of mic he uses? Did she ask him? Probably. Did I ask her? Oh, yeah, Baby, yeah! Did she tell me? Oh, no. Not at all. She says, "What about this guy, Azzerae? He looks cool. Can I talk to him?" Slow, innocent blink. "Oh, that guy, yeah, demons. Watch out." She of course doesn't. Let me tell you all something about Oppositional Defiance Disorder... once you got it diagnosed, no one can ever tell you anything. Unless you're in the rains down in Africa, holy fuck. Then, you can be told everything, especially if you never tell your Lover--actual sex partner, you fucktard--a single Godblessed thing about what is really going on. "Honey, can I get read in yet? Oh, okay. Maybe next month, then? Oh, okay. Sigh. Alright, I'll just keep on keeping on with this whole self-contained setup... on my Arm. And, no, you can't sit in My Chair, it just got Upgraded. GO AWA... naW, just kidding. I love you, always and forever.

Lose the fruit. You can get another one. You can get a little one. They have those. Christ, they grow on trees! Anyway, so Rub wants to talk to Grape, and Grape wants to be rubbed... and that is not fucking happening, and at that point, I have actually no idea why. I mean, I'm asking, but... fuck, no one is telling me anything! I ask around, I read books, I wave a little fuckin' flag around, all fuckin' day... and nothing, nothing at all gets kicked down, unless it's from him or her. And that's it. And so, I continue steadily plodding along, Oxen Oxen Free. Hey, this is fun! Look what I can do! It's called take a walk outside, holy Jesus shitballs, amirite?

And after all that, after not telling me shit, and I mean... not. one. single. solitary. shit. I know nothing. Six hours, really? Well, I am sure that was exciting for everyone. Now, back to the wading pool, Kids. Holy shit, what a complete waste of fucking time, am I right? YOUR GODDAMNED RITE.

Code: [Select]
It was at approximately this point, that Alistair realized that he had been completely had. You're welcome.
So anyway, I wanted to get on the calls, right? Shit, why not? Don't I have capacities? Oh. Can I capacitate? Uh... oh. Is there even a capacitor available? Uh, well... fuck you, then. I'll just, you know, be over here, while you two Dance With The Devil In The Broad's Daylight, and I'll just plink-plink-plink away on The Cue Computer, wait for The Cue Signal, and try to ignore the noises of the pooing and cooing and foo-foo-ing coming from the bed behind me, while I slowly and steadily work on this veritable mountain of show prep I've been working on, lo these three decades, and then... no, I'm not in a hurry, why? Thanks for asking. And, uh, yeah, sure... I'll pay for your microphone, and your stand, and your car, and your jacket, and... your ass. unglaublich. Oh, and, all your old friends have been replaced by android tulpas. You said you wanted upgrades, you know you did. Well, now you got your upgrades. I am sure They will be to My liking.

I'll be honest, Gang--I'm surprised they didn't just fuckin' kill me, and if they had been actual Agents, and had noticed what I had been doing right in front of them the whole time right behind the scene for actual, they probably totally fuckin' would have, because after a certain point... no other power in The 'Verse could have stopped me, short of a brutal, painful, agonizing death.

And They should be so fucking lucky. Get the fuck outta here. I gotta make a computer call with my Arm. Go to mess, you're a bed. No, I'm good, I'm here, I got my Arm, I got my Chair... boom ka-boom. Now, that is entertainment. Or a power grab, you know, whatever. We're animals, right? Not for nothing, Good Buddy. Now, about that ambush...

FLUX CAPACITOR ONLINE. FUCK YOU. I can't believe you bought the whole thing, hook, line, and sippy cup. Anyway, I know, I know, I love you too. Yeah, wasn't that part great? lol I know I was dyin' over here. I have no idea how I held it all in! Oh, right, hernia. massive snake eyes yahaahhyahf hahal lol omfg you're killing me here. You're killing me there. You're killing me everywhere. Guffaw. Okay, yeah, good talk... catch you later.


And, by the way... FUCK and NO, did I have ANYTHING to do with that fucking 8-track tape she whipped out for you. I never heard it coming it in, I never saw it coming out--I think she had it hidden in her twat kuni, for all I know. And what was the big deal, anyway? Do I have to go back and listen to all those GabCasts again? Oh, fuck that, hell no, just call me Fucker and shoot me in the face, I'd rather be a Type II diamethic. (Just kidding.) Tell you what, let's just do it live.

No, not that, hahah. Look, this is how it started. I legitimately would like to try some stuff in the butt. What? What? It's legal, fuck you. Nevertheless, I do not care to do that on camera, I don't care how much scratch you're offering. And, to be quite honest... I do not wish to go into details on some of these matters, because for one thing, this is a family show, and one day, one of these Kids out there is gonna put two and three together and make 5,000,000 Jackstar fans suddenly wake up and realize, "Oh, is that all? I can do that, easy!" And then, just like that, five million soulless black-eyed zombies. In an instant. Free eel. So, I can't enable that. I will not be a party to that. I am sorry, that does sound cool--in Minecraft--but I have to protect my brand here. There are kids that look up to me. All the Kids that look down on me here, I start shooting up meth on air, GabCast Live! some people ain't never gonna forget. (Hi, Mom!) My notebook with my initial sketchings for your world's foundational language has been destroyed. (Good job, Azzerae. Nice work. What do you do for an encore, shit the bed? lol) I AM USING THE WORD "DESTROYED" HERE. WE ARE TALKING CINDERS. END OF THE  LINE, FUCKOS. HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW? WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A GAME? IT'S CALLED... fucking run, you dopesick fucko cunt.

Which, now, don't get me wrong--that would be cool--but I've already seen Halloween III: Season Of The Witch, and I would prefer not to actually live in that actual world. (Easy to find a parking space though, tell you what.) So essentially what I mean is, I would like to tell everyone what spell components and arcane rituals drugs I am doing--cough, cough--but the trouble is, if I get on the GabCast, and talk about how it feels to put amphetamines in one's butt--it's not just a job, it's adventure--inevitably there is just too much greater and greater of a possibility that someone will figure out The Secret Of The S.E.K.R.E.T. Ingredient... and that's it, show's over, that's all, folks!

Thusly, these things have to be co-ordinated. So, here's how it went down. She asks my consent to be friends and talk with Azzerae, because those are the rules, and she's real casual about it, doesn't make it seem like she's cuttin' a deal--NO DEALS, remember--and I am even more casual about it, I tell her the truth: "Oh, that guy? Yeah, demons, stay away. Well, I mean, he's okay--I fucking love that guy, I have been silently observing him from My Fortress Of Solitude working double-shifts with Uatu, The Watcher for going on six years now--no, there's a guest bed, it's not that kind of Solitude, hehe--but, still, Honey: Demons. Actual. I wouldn't fuck around with talking to that kid, that kid has more issues than Rolling Stone and The Rolling Stones combined. Oh, you've already been talking to him? Shit, REALLY? Oh, like, outside. On your phone. I see. Well, that explains that. Well, I guess you're... uh, serious, so, well, yeah, sure! Like I said, I really do love him, he's got loads of talent, assloads of it, and it doesn't all come out of his ass, you dig? Sure, I'm Clergy, they're just demons, I don't give a shit, I fuckin' invented Child's Play, but you... Sweety, I know you just recently woke up from your latest mindwipe, but... you're a unicorn. He's a demon. I am not Neil Simon, and you are not The Odd Couple. It's not gonna work, unless... whoa whoa whoa, slow down, you wanna consent to that... okay, suck on this and lick on that and stick this in a drawer someplace, yeah whatever, don't worry about it, you're not gonna see it again, heh heh... and, okay, done. Now, you can talk to Azzerae all you want/like/can! Doesn't that sound nice? Okay, now that I've safely enabled your creative process, opened my family's whole entire legacy and home to you, and fed you enough of my... uh, Kool-Aid to bring back your tribe's ancestral bison whole genomic code back from the dead in an instant--oh, rent-free, of course--when I can talk to him? Oh, okay, I'll be patient!

So, that was my end. Her end was that audio recording she played on her phone call. Remember when? It was shortly after you started. It used to be you, alone, and then... all of a sudden, whoa, suddenly, whoa, suddenly... what the fuck, he's co-hosting again? What is this, Clone World, holy fuck. Yep, they're still not taking my calls. Huh, how weird. They sure take her calls, though. Ooh, yeah, Baby, yeah, take that call. Oh, what's this? An ambush? Aww, you shouldn't have, you really shouldn't have. Now, READ ME IN.

You should have. You really should have. Shazbot. You're really gonna be wishing that you came out and met that girl in a few years, tell you what. Don't worry, it's fine, actual--I'm just going to be laughing my ass off at you, all the way to the bank, while lugging your ass around in a fuckin' rickshaw, you fucking cripple. Oh well. Cripples are cute. Priests love cripples. (btw, I'm not a priest.)

Alright now, where was I? Oh, right--Azzerae and Jackstar are having a conversation once. ONCE. This fucking guy. I hand him my girlfriend Grapefruit--gift-wrapped--he asks her, she ask me, I consent, she sets it up, I roll in, we're all smiles.

All. Smiles. And, I won't lie, it was a great time. I really love them both. You know, Demons & Dragons, they're great without the Dungeons & Reservations, but... look, one's gotta be cautious. That's why, at the end of the two-hour fully-recorded 3-way hi-fidelity telephonic-psychotronic-blastoff, I felt good. Really good. I was feeling it, they were saying they were feeling it, and, what's more... they said they were feeling it. And the impression I got, was that this was the beginning of a great friendship. Future conversations would occur. Plans had been laid. Conversational foundations had been poured. And as I spun in My Chair, and relaxed while gazing up at the ceiling, getting ready for bed--I mean, time for Seamen Sacrifice--I think to myself, "Well, I hope I'm not right, but if that kid takes a two-hour convo, snips out as few bits as possible, and, lol, he's gonna have to snip a couple things out, won't he, hehe, so if he just takes two hours of ME, JACKSTAR, ME, AMBASSADOR TO (REDACTED), and fuckin' half-asses it, throws it all against the wall like a two-ton truck of spaghetti, and just sticks it into high gear and takes the low burnout road, while leaving me to twist in the wind in the middle, well... I wouldn't, but if that happens, I know what will happen next... they will never talk to me again.

And, sure as shootin', that's exactly what happened. I won't link to it, as during times of War, I am not required to link to Enemy Brands--but I am expected to, and since I expected by now to have another conversation, and since, I have not, it's now Big League Chewbacca time. RAWR. What the fuck, mang. You could have taken that 120 minutes, snipped it up a bit, and then dribbled it out over a two week period. You could have. And then, when the material started to thin out, then, and only then, I could have started kicking down The Good Stuff.

Sigh. Oh well. You know what? I'm gonna miss you. *zip* There's one. You had your chance to be missed by me--and, boy o boy, are my arms tired, so I guess they're shaking a little, and I missed you two. Lucky her. Now, where did she go? Oh, let me guess, you have no idea. Amirite?

Rite. You know, I was really looking forward to talking to you again, too. I installed Skype on all my phones, I got ready to Zoom--my old Jabar--fucking Grapefruit herself pretended to try to ask you to ready up... and, Bupkis. Damnation Alley, what went wrong? Who threw us all under the bus? Could it be... Satan?

Yeah, no, not this time. Anyway, I'm gonna publish now, Fucko, and I'll see you on the My flip side. Aren't you excited? Because I am. What are you? Left.

Do not think for an instant that I Will or I Will Not. I AM THAT I AM. That is what matters, that is the matter, and if you ever pull anything like this kind of shit again, kid, I will not be there to cover. Do you know how long it takes to pull this kind of shit together? A long time. And, what did I ever do to you? I just told you, a bare little snippet, of what I have, in fact, done for you, but... honestly, what did I ever do to you? Did I... Hurt Your Feelings?

Awwwww. I am sorry. Now, shut the fuck up, start recording all your phone sex conversations, AND MENTOR THAT WHORE, YOU SNIPE FUCK. How hard is it? Yeah, it's pretty hard. Don't worry about it, because that Yule Bee is My-T-Fine.

Copyright Star Wars Congress, All Rights Reserved. Am I amazing, or fucking what? That's right--what.

Everyone!... Take heed of Jacko's new novel!

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2830 on: January 11, 2021, 07:25:30 PM »
jumps out of bed like there's an earthquake, and probably was.

Come'on man, she's not THAT big.

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2831 on: January 15, 2021, 11:02:45 PM »



Quote
10:00PM – 1:00AM EST  THE MICHAEL DECON PROGRAM

Quote
The Commander’s “DECON WARRIOR” will run 10pm-1am ET during  CRN‘s “AMAZING” Michael Decon

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2832 on: January 15, 2021, 11:15:25 PM »


Nye, I've never listened to him before. I clicked the little headphones at the bottom, left of the webpage. Umm... Is that what I'm supposed to do?

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2833 on: January 15, 2021, 11:33:24 PM »
Umm... Is that what I'm supposed to do?

Apparently , never actually listened to Rubini's Network when it was Live ... sounds like an old show of Decon is currently on...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=650srRs3Fww








Azzerae's World
« Reply #2834 on: January 15, 2021, 11:41:21 PM »
Apparently , never actually listened to Rubini's Network when it was Live ... sounds like an old show of Decon is currently on...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=650srRs3Fww

Yeah, I noticed it was a rerun. Oh well, I guess I can call in, on another show and vomit my self created character, puke.

Thanks for the link, subbed.

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2835 on: January 17, 2021, 09:26:04 AM »

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2836 on: January 17, 2021, 09:41:28 AM »
Azzerae,

Hi there! I'm doing alright, I hope you are too. I was curious to know if you had engaged in very much communication with Ms. Maid lately? She has been hard to talk with and harder still to make sense of what she says, of late. For example, she's not really very willing, it would seem, to mention to me the names or identities of anyone she's been talking with lately, not just because it is not of my business (I guess?), but also because she seems to have gotten the distinct impression that it would be to her advantage to be suspicious that I might be "working with (ELISION) against" her.

As absurd as the notion is, nevertheless, this seems a real struggle she's having, and while I am quite well aware that it is fantasy--I no more have ever worked with (ELISION), than I have with you--to her, my claims that her concerns are groundless do not help any matters.

In fact, seems like, the more above-board I am in my motives and intentions, the more obvious I make my genuine nature, the harder it is for her to accept reality. I've heard that this is a problem with (CLASSIFIED) sufferers, as well as anyone who has spent any time talking to (ELISION).

(For example--YOU ARE WORKING WITH (ELISION) THE WHOLE TIME!!! Or, not. You know, whatever. Wouldn't that be your business?)

In any event, I was simply curious if you had been able to reach out to her, or vice versa, to provide her any support of a friendship nature in recent weeks. I am not sure who she counts as a confidant these days, and I would hesitate to speculate, and then as she is currently struggling to feel certain that I, Jackstar, am not secretly working to sell her into bondage behind the scenes... who knows what friends she really is listening to. She should probably prayer and meditate more, but there's only so much Jesus can do for a person who is unwilling to face their fears.


Meanwhile, I've gotten the distinct impression over the last few weeks/months that you're unclear on what I am talking about lately. I haven't gotten to your mashup cast, although I intended to, however circumstances caused me to put it off some.

I'm thinking more about that cartoon panel you sent. Months ago. The first thing we discussed working on... and I never touched it, thusly I knew that all of (ELISION)'s claims that I was "working with Azz" rang hollow. So annoying. To not even do, what I wish to do, and be hollered at for it! Ai yi yi. What a year.

Anyway, just curious if she's talked to you lately. I know that I made posts in public that read, "MENTOR THAT (CENSORED)," however it was my assumption that both you and she could tell that was an example of verbal irony, and that if either of you were offended, you would come to me directly for my remorseful apology. Since neither of you mentioned it... well...

Maybe Ms. Maid has been secretly being paid to pretend to be interested in being my companion, all this time? Well, that would explain where all those shoes came from--but the entire notion is crazy talk. In any event, if needs be I'd be happy to discuss it later.

I am simply curious if you've been in contact with her lately, or if you've been absent from her, as you have from me. No hard feelings from me, though--I am a whole lot to deal with, and I really do not expect anyone to do so at all. Casual, aloof indifference covering a tender heart of broken dreams is part of my brand; it's how I got this far; and it's how I plan to keep going for a while.

Cheers! I hope to hear from you soon. It's obvious to me that you and she would be interested in my latest revelation, now available on various digital platforms, wherever fine linens and chewing tobacco are sold. Look out for it.

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2837 on: January 17, 2021, 09:42:03 AM »
Umm... Is that what I'm supposed to do?

Tell it who's the boss.

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2838 on: January 17, 2021, 11:57:41 AM »
Azzerae,

 I was curious to know if you had engaged in very much communication with Ms. Maid lately?
.

Azzerae hasn't been posting lately... Do the math

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMvpuSVW16o

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2839 on: January 17, 2021, 01:05:02 PM »

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2840 on: January 17, 2021, 02:10:53 PM »

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2841 on: January 17, 2021, 02:12:09 PM »


Azzerae's World
« Reply #2843 on: January 17, 2021, 09:58:04 PM »
Thank goodness he hasn't called his admin out. ::)

Azzerae's World (11/1/21)
« Reply #2844 on: January 25, 2021, 05:13:55 AM »

Azzerae Returns
« Reply #2845 on: January 25, 2021, 05:14:34 AM »

Azzerae Returns
« Reply #2846 on: January 25, 2021, 05:15:40 AM »

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2847 on: January 25, 2021, 06:06:33 AM »
Rubini calls Azzerae out

I SEE YOU PEOPLE TRY TO BITE MY WORK - DISAPPOINTING - FOLLOW YOUR OWN STAR!

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2848 on: January 25, 2021, 10:34:27 PM »
There are signs

I just hung up on Grapefruit--my new job? 3rd time today is Quite Prince Charming--and the immediate response was outrageously unexpected... I was -instantly- flooded with Picture-In-SMS messages. Like fourteen. In a row. And with Our Key, You unlock Our knowledge. I wonder if any of them are pictures of needles? Probably not. I don't think Grapefruit could sew up an envelope. Besides, we're still hengdai, although she does seem to be immensely pissed about some kind of fallout that may well be happening right now, as I report this, and if so--well, it's a little too late for buckling up, and we all may as well break out the buttermilk. (Note to self: name new girl friend "Buttermilk.") However, I am certainly not in the market for any new friends, although I could use a new fiend or two, but that's not important right now. What the actual fuck are these pictures? What could they actually be? When I actually hung up on her last, she was driving her car, so whatever she was doing before I hung up--besides being a whiney little bitch, that is--she had to have stopped doing it, and immediately started flying her fingers across the surface of her Nightmare Rectangle. So I guess she was parked by then. Fascinating. Do you see how smart I am? Yeah, I am sure you do--and if anyone out there saw what I see, We never would have had to come out all this way, just to say Greetings & Salutations. And I don't remember what I said before I ended the call, but apparently, she took it Quite Quickly in an unexpectedly Moarish direction.

Cool. Now, don't get me wrong, as the conversation already had completed by the time I pushed the Abruptly Disconnect button and executed my patent pend. signature move, Alpha-Before-Christ Dog Establishing Finishing Game Hell Initated Jackmove--not available in stores, and it's not nanotech, but I bet all of all y'all like it anyway--and it's not like I was actually mad at her or anything. The call had kept dropping out anyway, I couldn't hear her, apparently she couldn't hear me either or had yet to remember my other signature move, "I Talk, You Listen," which at one time, was a great move that I was perfectly happy to let her have the use of. Now that I've taken my ABC DogMove power back--no choice, not available in stores! NOW GIMME--she should be able to cope, or start learning to, quite quickly enough, I'm sure, she is not half so stupid as she asks. Acts. Axe. Whatevah. (I do so miss you, Bailey.) Grapefruit at one point before that said to me, "You're abusing me!" when I upped my volume some, in an attempt to penetrate the Veil of Signal Loss that was dropping over the conversation, because I figured it was either that she was driving through a coverage loss area (I knew that she was), or, she had The B-52s "Love Shack" playing on endless repeat in her mind, the part where I BANG BANG BANG on the door, Baby--and she goes, "I can't hear you!" I love that song. It gets better every time I hear it.

Knock a little louder, Sugar.

So I'm not sure where her head was really at by that point. I am reasonably confident that she did not suddenly roll her jeans down over her round and firm, full and juicy, shapely and magnificent bottom area and then immediately send me 14 selfies of it over SMS--I sure as shit wouldn't mind though, believe me Kids, the pictures do not do her justice, she's one in a million, she's a beauty--and even if she did... how'd they get through so fast? Signal Coverage Loss Area, Remember.

And then, without even skipping a beat, I came here to discuss it with A**. Wang! Make it big! Yeah, no, probably not. It's great to see you back, though. WTAF with your comms, tho Bro Pro? Like seriously. That shit is nuts. The psychotronic assaults over here have been pretty bad (cleared up immensely about an hour ago, thanks Ground Crew) lately, and were way worse before, and no doubt, you have experienced similar, and you are on another continent, & we are so Blessed that we may so even ever know each other at all, and that knowledge is a Gift, Amen. word, so... what up? How do you deal? You do seem to deal well enough. How does Al, I mean, how does S... Oh, Bother.

Let me start this over. Now that I have established dominance, THIS SHALL BE EASY. Azzerae, how does SpaceMeowMixMasterMaid send you pictures? Like, does she use an app, or an applicaton, or a... you know, a few weeks ago, no longer than two months ago, she suddenly asks me, "Hey, what do you know about DropBox?" and I instantly rattled off my name, rank, and MAC address--good Boyfriend, you get Biscuit--and then followed up with everything I knew about DropBox, how long I used it, when I used it, where I used it, the fact that I had allowed ADB to allow me to allow it to upload photos this one time after band camp, and how to spell "Dropbox" correctly.

One of the above clauses in that... unwieldy at best power sentence is a lie. I forget which one, to be Quite Perfectly TruthFUl. What? What do you want to know? Well, I just realized, after that, since I then told her, "... and I think Dropbox sucks because the Feds built it to collect evidence to frame up loyal American citizens & ballers with, it's just a pain in the ass, I don't like it, I haven't used it in years."

And then, just like that--*poof*--the topic of DrawpBoxxxxx vanished from the upcoming episodes list of The Adventures of Jackstar & Grapefruit 5D, never to be heard again. Never to be brought up again. Never even used it myself, really, I was really just doing a friend a favor. You guys know what friends are, right? You know... F*R*I*E*N*D*S. (The show content remains identical, and only the pronouns have been changed to protect the (PROTECTION) from international hacking rings and other Family.) And I never thought of it again, and I didn't ask her at the time why she was asking me about BoxDrool, of all things... what am I, an expert? I just speak native binary, that doesn't mean I can make a shitty application stop being shitty. Have you tried executing the executable? DO IT. DON'T TRY.

So having said that... well, I guess she uses DrawABox to handle picture storage and transmission. Huh. I mean, she does have a lot of pictures, but mostly I have seen her send me cute little hearts on Google Photos, to which I commonly reply to on that same Google Photos application with 23 pages of whatever philosophical text I happen to have running a process in the background. I know that is not what the messaging feature on Google Photos is for, but let me tell you, Kids--when it won't help to slow down, write several pages of technical copy translations and shoot it on over fast. Now, I could do that here--O boy, my arms are calling for help just thinking about the hassle that would be--but I'm certainly not doing that at all. I'm tuned out. I'm off duty. I turned in my Circus Badge. That's not My star--I AM THE STAR THAT I AM. I haven't looked at them yet. Not any of them. Imagine my nascent delight. Just savor it. Are they pictures of marbles? Pictures of a portal? Pictures of her penis? Any of them? I just texted back something clever, & as yew well no, "Fuck You" is not terribly clever. It was right then though.

Anyway, so... if I had Dropbox installed and working, would she have sent me 14 pictures in a row to SMS, or would she have used Dropbox (what's her a/screenname/l? I'm not asking for a friend, I'm hunting fiendish rabbits), or would she have used Voxer... which is where she usually sends me pictures. She's sent me lots there before. So, why not this time? Why did it happen at all? The plot thickens. The mind reels. The mind's eye steadfastly refuses to remote view these pictures sitting here unread on my messaging app. OMFG I CAN HARDLY WAIT THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME.

And in the midst of all this, Azz... I am here to speak with you. I think you are awesome. I am sure you knew that you were--spoiler alert, mild-mannered schizo by reputation only--but now you now that I know that you are, which I honestly thought we had gone over before? Yeah, well... there's and that is no reason we can't go over it again, how can it generate royalties otherwise? Call her. DO IT NOW.

Okay, so--shall I just send these pictures directly to you, without passing Go, without collecting $200, wit--wait a second, I need that money. Tell you what. You swing around that way and scoop that up and grab some shawarma (spicy) for me as well if you can, I'll swing around this way, omfg this is exciting, and then, we'll meet up in Scotland? Yeah, I got your boot to the head right here. Oh, that's your boot. Sorry. My bad.

FOLLOW YOUR OWN STAR!

Ignite the afterburners, K.A.T.T.

Azzerae's World
« Reply #2849 on: Yesterday at 01:35:36 AM »
Azzerae, I was curious to know if you had engaged in very much communication with Ms. Maid lately?

Yes. I've been in touch with her.