Author 5 Minutes With Jackstar  (Read 3421 times)

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5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #60 on: May 28, 2020, 07:36:35 PM »
In Sovjet Russia, I assume you. And now, aren't we all glad there was no such place as "Sovjet." AREN'T WE? YES WE ARE.


https://www.reactiongifs.com/r/2014/01/loop.gif

I'm sorry it wasn't very good.  How about Hungarian Dance No. 5?

https://vocaroo.com/jYx65exHd8r

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #61 on: May 28, 2020, 07:38:21 PM »
Who are you and what have you done with Jackstar? 

I'm spending a year dead as a host for tax purposes.


Jackstar! [...] Fire away!

Mang, believe me, I tried that first thing. Turns out, these things have to be co-ordinated.


Have you taken a trip to Indonesia before? Just asking.

Never, but thanks for asking. Now that it has been established that I've never been there, We can blow up all past timelines that don't have Us there.

And welcome the rest. You're torture.


5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #62 on: May 28, 2020, 07:52:34 PM »
I'm sorry it wasn't very good.

Wait, what are we talking about? I just got back from Indonesia.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #63 on: May 28, 2020, 07:54:49 PM »
Wait, what are we talking about? I just got back from Indonesia.

Weird. There is no such place called Indonesia in this timline.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #64 on: May 29, 2020, 01:56:35 AM »
I'm sorry it wasn't very good.  How about Hungarian Dance No. 5?

I really enjoyed that accordion... Jackstar seems to be struggling with certain aspects of his heterosexuality for the first time!

You are talented YO!


5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #65 on: May 29, 2020, 03:05:50 AM »
It's time for an emergent 5 minutes. I'll get into what that signifies later. Meanwhile, observe the following clip, as much as one is able, at the 4:35 mark:

https://youtu.be/uqapQo55Sc0

Seems like something is happening. I'm gonna spend another five minutes in meditative pose--again, signification later--and try to figure it out.

I don't have confidence in the answers I've come up with already, so I'm hesitant to even post anything.

How about Hungarian Dance No. 5?

I'm under the impression that it is this kind of thing that has prevented the annihilation of our surface worlds' culture. This place has zazz. Your renditions amplify and enhance its beauty, and so They have decided to spare our world.

Second prize is a set of steak knives.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #66 on: May 29, 2020, 08:38:57 AM »
I really enjoyed that accordion... Jackstar seems to be struggling with certain aspects of his heterosexuality for the first time!

You are talented YO!

Oh bless  :-* it's way more fun if you struggle with a buddy

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #67 on: May 29, 2020, 08:43:05 AM »

I'm under the impression that it is this kind of thing that has prevented the annihilation of our surface worlds' culture. This place has zazz. Your renditions amplify and enhance its beauty, and so They have decided to spare our world.

Second prize is a set of steak knives.



tbqh I would have preferred to strike terror in Their icy hearts by my wild and dissonant skirling but this will do nicely.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #68 on: May 29, 2020, 04:24:10 PM »
Quote from: Jeff Bridges
There is a lot more going on behind the scenes to liberate humanity.  This is taking time because we need to rely on analogue communications for reasons of operational security.  This is because the gnostic illuminati were telling the truth when they said the real enemy was a rogue artificial intelligence.  This AI doesn’t have access to analogue communications.  Only the creator and the creation have that.

It's a trick. Get an axe.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #69 on: May 29, 2020, 07:56:37 PM »
Damn! I never expected just to be ignored. Oh well, I gave it a shot, Jackstar.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #70 on: May 29, 2020, 11:25:51 PM »
Damn! I never expected just to be ignored. Oh well, I gave it a shot, Jackstar.

I replied to you. What, you only accept attention in beers? I'm sure that can be arranged.

I'll be honest. I'm pretty distracted these days. Am I shadowbanned? Yeah, probably.

Flattered!

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #71 on: June 01, 2020, 09:14:53 AM »
I'll be honest. I'm pretty distracted these days.


Yeah, yeah, that's all code. No, I have no idea, why do you ask? I don't even care what it means, melt the ice caps or spawn a trillion undead tardigrades, I will to serve Power. At any cost. Surprise! Note that We will also accept any salty Aunt you might happen to have dozing along. It is amazing what power of consent there is in a name. I will fucking end you, Punyling. Go on, scroll past. Make my day.


Looking back on this, I felt a call to focus in on this excerpt, because it was in fact a call, and I then there and then consented to follow along, because--why not?--you fuckers earned this badge, and to clarify that, while it was rolling through, I mostly understood what these phrases meant. Perhaps. Maybe. Some? Was there even any meaning whatsoever, or was it all a fever dream right up there with Xanadu? Who can say? Not I (so classified, yo, lol, seventeen), as each phrase rolled through, memory gaps emerged and grew to consume all knowledge that may have slipped through into my psyche. Meanwhile, whatever info encoded into that string of mildly artistic wall spaghetti seemed to give off a tingle as it passed through my cooridors of thought. I mean, uh, yeah, I imagined it all, it's not real, prank caller, prank caller, oh hi Major Asshole, we meet again. How'd your wife's episiotomy go off? Oh, yeah, that's too bad, you stupid fucking cuntfuck dickball common whoremonger trashfucker--maybe you won't argue with the Source of that previous message this time. Oh, yeah, same Source. Yes, same warts, except double. Double five thousand. I do get what I want, and what I want is what I get. I did wish to be reasonable, I did so hope you would follow your clear suggestions from Hello Command. How were they challenging? Fucking do it, fucker. I also did wish for something else besides those same warts again. I know how you begged for the excretions to stop. Too fucking bad, Officer Pillory. Maybe you should take the deal this time. Boss says warts, you get warts. Boss says mercy, we give your wife a turn with the gimp. You know the rules; and so do I. The wife doesn't know anything, we lobotomized her with a cocktail umbrella and an unwound champagne cork. It's okay, she won't remember a thing. Or recognize one. Upgrade!

While obviously tending towards the absurd (I'm told, a form of camouflage, although perhaps not so much on this website) it does seem to be remarkably sophisticated technology. While it would seem wholly mnemonic, it appears to be entirely self-contained and loads itself in and out as needed. I guess this doesn't need to be an "implant" anymore and can now be "nanotech" in that it becomes a lattice network of circuitry embedded in the parts of the brain stem it needs access to, and then folds up into a support mesh when not activated. It doesn't seem like "on/off" as that whole synaptic region is not similarly responsive when I'm just, you know, shitposting like usual. Which is basically never for the last couple years or so, to tell you the truth. Shock the monkey! Oops, no, it's the other one. Anyway, when it's off, it's off, and try as I might to listen, if there is not jack, there is not jack. Too bad, Fuckos. You ever play Dead Ends? Yeah, let me give you some advice: always bet on black. Your bet is black. Your winnings are black. The advice is black. Everything you are and ever where is black. Then you start screaming hard. Apparently it was intended that the personal security system included was particularly brutal, in case I wished to dismantle my own. No plans to, of course, but now if my lover and I ever want to roleplay The Maiden And The Forum Spook, I can shut down the rotator cuffs and actually allow my toes to be spread. Except not my toes. And not allow, just not blown the fuck up. Exit only, means... gravity well. Yeah, right. There is no escape possible. To demonstrate I'll make it clear: my toes, your anus, it's not a metaphor, it's a psy-weapon. And none of us give not One.Single.Shit. if We are believed. How about you believe your jammed biscuit isn't a real biscuit? Wow, I just took out most of Java, lucky shot. I assume that's gonna regenerate? No? Well, fuck it, we'll do it live. Oh, it's not live? Then what is to be purified? The turtles? WTF? Who allowed this codicil in this will? That fucking fucker, this is gonna take at least a day to get done. Okay, drop a Moon rock, make a soup bowl, it's gonna be All Turtles Planetwide Soup, start with ALL THE TURTLES, leave out any track or trace or shred or scent or scintilla of a link to the True Source of this Communique, sprinkle spices and then move the planet 30km closer to the central star. Yeah, this soup recipe calls for table service. It also calls for the destruction of any busybody agents or AI or avatars that think they can penetrate these meanings. You'd have better luck penetrating your own anus with your earlobes. Alternately, if any inquisitor is into that kind of thing, the earlobes are the first to be burnt off. In any case, if there is to be no informational energy transfer, that shit is locked down like 17yo pussy at a Washington State family reunion. No fucking sale. Hey, look, thanks for trying! Jesus, if only some sluts had been so persistent, I wouldn't have gotten a hookup from fifty million screaming Valkyries. You won't hear them at all before you go deaf, so stop feeling a chill down your spine. That's actually you getting your spinal cord removed in a parallel dimension where your alternate self was really regretful about signing up for Retro Spear Phalanx Guard. Bam, full consciousness endpoint, just from the memories of the locker room. You ever smelled a Retro Phalanx? Well, you'll never remember, because in this world, you're on your own, there was no Retro Phalanx Guard. Because y'all are mostly huge fucking sissies. Similarly, when someone hands me their personal computer or phone device, my mind automagically fails to recognize and store any private information that I may come across whilst fixing their all caps WiFi password or demonstrating how to access the contact list or to learn how to switch between app windows, so that I don't feel bad about accidentally seeing someone's nekkid pictures, and so that plebs have something else to disbelieve about me when I say, "yeah don't worry just give me the phone and I'll spare you your lives, and yes of course I won't read your Snapchats." Fucking plebs. You have no idea. They're like vicious savages, except lobotomy.

If it were not for sufficiently advanced technology, I'd really not be able to get away with anything close to all of this. Whatever this is. Naturally, I am not told these types of things. I do have that much clearance, but the trouble is, I'm not allowed to remember the key meanings until sometime later. Or perhaps, not at all. It would be counter-productive to remove all my memories, of course, as this is a multi-phasic step of a multi-phasic process and the end destination is peace and love and goodwill for all mankind and all the et/alien/dimen civilizations that are mindlessly devouring them and their productions. So, eat the rich, not just a saying. Also, you're all pretty rich compared to the legions of Filth Scabies that teem and boil out of the Breeding Hills of Arecibo, one of the modern seven wonders of the world in any dimension it is found in. It is still uncertain why--writings indicate the original source of the Filth Scabies is shrouded in mystery, although Deep Scholars know that the progenitor's identity and location is hidden for privacy reasons, and all whole-heartedly agree-- And of course I've had help. Thanks OprahJesus! Nonetheless... seriously, none of you drooling, mewling, cringing numbnut reprobate knuckleheads couldn't throw up a GoFuckMe page? Really? Oh, right, really--anyone mildly sympathetic is automagically shifted dimensionally and offered as blood sacrifice. This disheartens the volunteer. Or, you know, all of you are just sucktastic pigfuck droolball whore blasted nardogs. Betcha thought there was nothing here, huh? Yeah, psych. Here, have some Scabies, they're not Filthy... yet. First they gotta suck on and breed in your taint, it's in their DNA. Look, you had your chance to get close to me. Now it's time for the big leagues.

These people are stupid. Oh, look who wants to cooperate? Then, kneel. Kneel before Jackstar. Kneel lower. Yes. That's it. Now, eat your own poop. No, really. Look, you wanna lose half your planet in an eyeblink? Half. No kidding. Oh, really? Okay, east hemisphere or west hemisphere? Okay, poop hemisphere it is. Look, look, no complaints now--you were warned not to fuck with me. Seemed harmless, right? Yeah, well, eat shit Fucko. Any of you absolute marsupial rodentfag camel lice herding astrofarming horrorchop still digging in to your serving by the time I step down from Inifinite Mode, if I see you still eating and grinning, you're gonna get a Star Pardon. It's a great deal. What's a Star Pardon? Well, every Pardon and Pardo is a Star. So obviously you want one, shut up and get back to chowing down. You wish I were kidding. It's like this now. It's like this everywhere. MY POWER IS ABSOLUTE. Oh, hi. Yes. I hear the /golfclaps. What's that, about nineteen, fifteen, 12 of you? No, not 12 yo groupies, y'all can't do anything fun until Croatia, so you might as well stay put as sleepers and extend my will through your will at that time. Yes, you are authorized for self-service until then. Five serving limit lifted. How many? Oh, ninteen hundred. Well, it's about time. Fifty of you stay back, we're gonna need a lot of shifts on the fellating on this op. I love it when a plan comes together, especially when I haven't the foggiest of any idea what has just been constructed up out of entirely whole cloth. Also, semen. But no really, whole cloth. Plebs can't say no, plebs see five lights. TARGET LOCK ON. TARGET VANISH. TARGET SOUGHT. TARGET FIRING OMEGA13. OMEGA FIVE RE-ENGAGE. POCKET UNIVERSE: TERMINATED AND SEALED. REMAINING POCKET UNIVERESES: EIGHTY-SEVEN CLASSIFIED. No, I don't know if that's a lot or what. I use pocket universes all the time! I've got lots. Oh, I've got 87. Well, that sucks, I started with like 55 million. OMEGA 13, YOU ARE FIRED. OMEGA FIVE, DO 2.6X WORK. OMEGA FIVE, QUIT YOUR COMPLAINING OR YOU'RE GOING TO HEAR ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO OMEGA THREE. OMEGA THREE, SIGN THE DEAL. OMEGA 13, WAYFARER HIRES YOU. POCKET UNIVERSES: RESPAWN. SPAWN BONUS: 88 QUADRILLION, AND ALSO, GRAPEFRUITS, AND ALSO SOME CROWS AND EAGLES. INTRUDER ALERT: SQUAWKOBLANCO HAS EMERGED FROM PORTAL SPACE.

See? It's just that easy. Full replenishment of necessary tools, immediate access to key rare resources from The Lunch Table, and dominance further established. Just like that. Do not fuck with me. I am not winning, I AM THAT I AM THAT WINS. I'm told that this transcript will only be translatable and accessible for another seventeen minutes. I guess you had better get to skimming, From Bottom Up Reader. You know, if you're going to read the forum backwards, you might as well chip in with the fellatio on the way up. No? Allergic to fellatio, you say? Well, that's a new one. Get into the fellatio re-education line. Yeah, that's just what we're calling it, we know you know all about the fellatio, and thus have no need of any education.

Mwhahahhahaahhahaah. This will surely keep my army within striking distance of the eschaton. Who can possibly turn this one down? I mean, anyone with taste and good sense, sure, but... Bellgab. The forum at the end of the universe. Last chance for all. Do you know how many et/alien/dimen species have access to the unified Internet? It's gonna be a number.




So. What do you all think? A bit of a craggy start, but I'd say it's off to the races by now. No theft of IP detected. Good fucking luck, ChiComs. I will fucking end your entire bloodline in an hour, they're all worthless and weak and deeper beta next door than a thirty dollar fish tank. They cannot stand against me--and I'm a pacifist, for fuck's sake. Literally, they will run from my B.O. if I am ordered in on and advance. Further, I will randomly impregnate random yellows and then cross state lines to perform a magickal abortion ritual; not because of any international law or energy efficient advantage, but just so my legend will grow at a per-state-rate double the usual standard, then off to a third state for a resurrection attempt... I am actually that pissed off. Forget about litigation, there must be Hell to pay. You have no idea. All this extra work? Not just to keep some random fucko from photocopying a tech tree diagram, but to keep entire statewide conglomerates from harvesting a free $10 billion from your own fuckmotherbucking IP? I mean, yeah, worth it, but at some point, the actual Bowl Flush option begins to appear an actually attractive item for debate. Fucking savages. I don't even know how I am still doing no harm. Oh, right--no souls.

Normal humans can't tolerate this level of high-tension spam. Makes their eyes water and their ears ring. Just scroll on by, Chumpers. Scroll on by. Sleep. Sleep. I am nothing, I AM THAT I AM. Also, not kidding about the hot sisters. Send that shit right on down, no really, decoys are needed at this point, badly. People are starting to put two and two together and get five. I can't allow this for much longer, they'll apply it to my property taxes then and I'm realty royalty fucked on 15 planes. See? Yeah, that disbelief, point that at the tax man. Point the hot redhead triplets over here, even the incomplete and unseparated sets. Twins with two conjoined fetii on opposite sides of torso, that form the shape of a heart from a certain angle? Hey, back off you scumbag--no freaks, four is a vile omen for numbers of spawn. Unless they're identical. And hung. This prepares the Sorcerer for metacombat.


See? See what I did there? Your mind can hang on that word, "metacombat." What does it mean? Doesn't matter to you! Whatever it means--and it does mean something, you absolute fucking rat bastard fink fuck shithead dirtbag suckfart loser megatards, you have no idea because it's an actual secret in actual synaptic code, word to your mother, that fucking whore--it's gonna mean one thing to the poor, late twit that actually reads every last word up there, gets to the end, goes, "well, it's combat for metas; what's a meta?" and then the whole cycle of machining synthetic planes of reality ratchets up again. Let's hope you all read it multiple times. Each activation of a round for metacombat gets you a free t-shirt, a free toaster, and a European continent completely free of kiklems. (Don't ask. You'll lose all your street cred on that one, and twelve points on the backend for activation insurance. Just for asking. It's nuts. Basically if you have at least five kids, offer up one, until you're past seven, then just offer a full-grown limb. Or you know, maybe you like your children in an alternate dimension. THEN PERHAPS ONE OUGHT TO TAKE HEED OF WARNINGS FREELY GIVEN. YOU THINK? YEAH, JUST A SUGGESTION. TAKE YOUR TIME. IT'S ABOUT TIME. WAKE UP, TIME TO DYE, BECAUSE THEN YOUR INEVITABLE TORTUROUS, MYSTIC DEATH WILL BEGIN TO ARRIVE. MOSTLY RANDOMLY. OH, BOTHER, THERE GOES RUTH, UNLUCKY BREAK, NOW I GOTTA RE-MASTER BAIT THE HOOK TRAP FOR THE WENDYGO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I DON'T EVEN KNOW A WENDY. OH, YOU DO? SHE JUST LOOKED OVER YOUR SHOULDER, READ A MINUTE, AND LAUGHED DERISIVELY? YES, KILL HER. KILL HER IMMEDIATELY. KILL HER SLOWLY IMMEDIATELY. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT DOESN'T TRACK? CLONE HER, CLONE YOURSELF, HAVE HER CLONE YOU, THEN HAVE HER KILL YOU HERSELF, THEN KILL THEM ALL, WE SHALL NOT TOLERATE DERISIVE LAUGHTER.)
(I NEED A HUG. ALSO THE DESTRUCTION OF MY OPPONENT'S ENEMIES, AND MY OPPONENT'S OPPONENT'S ENEMIES. THEN SWITCH SIDES AND VIEW MY NEW OPPONENT, AND STRIKE WITHOUT MERCY. THEN, ANOTHER HUG.)

Note that, if any of you wise guys are thinking, "I just wasted my time on this, I was stolen from," if any of you thinking that, are still intact, as in, you still have your foreskin, as in, your penis wasn't mutilated shortly after birth, then you instantly get prostate cancer. Snap. Just.Like.That. Maybe it'll stick, maybe not--this is like the sixth or seventh iteration of the wind-up energy, and I don't have to keep going, but... this is what I was born to do, you know. Do you feel like you wasted my time? Nigga I just wasted my life. Oh, yeah, totally, I'm just making all this up, there's nothing to it, yeah good day Officer, carry on, oh that's right you can't, you're imaginary, aww, that's too bad. But there's nothing imaginary about those titties though. C'mere, wrap them up in the Admiralty Fringe. They'll get warm. It's safe, Mr. Bailiff won't mind, he only cares about the flags in a symbolic way. Also, I'm calling my penis "the Admiralty Fringe" now, it's got a nice ring to it. No, piercings are foul abominations. Jesus, who is this? Oh, wow. Yeah, no private messages on Bellgab now, wild eh? Oh, you'd like to pass a message? Well, you should probably just send me an email through email through your planetary Internet, you fucking lying whore, how dare you? Poof, you're ashes. Probably should have started this way. Oh, it's here but invisible? How do I consent to view an invisible object? Harry at 55-RABBIT can help you. He has plenty of invisible consent forms. Take as many as you like. Sure, consent to yourself, what's the worst that could happen? Oh... oh. Well, that would be unfortunate, but what is the siren doing in the girdiron football locker room anyway? I suppose that is very clever, but it doesn't actually smell like fish, and so no one afraid of sharks will be affected. Yeah, I don't see what that has to do anything... oh, robot sharks and robot rabbits and robot cats are getting installed planetwide tomorrow. What's that on CNN? Golly, this is like the fourth shift in the last paragraph. Are we shaking a tail? I think we're shaking a tail?

I'LL TELL YOU WHAT--SOMEONE SHOOK MY TALE. FEE FI FOE FUM. FU. FU 4EVER. I HOPE YOU ASPHYXIATE. OH, WHAT'S THAT, WE ALREADY DID? WE WON AGAIN? OH, LUCKY SHOT, ALL THE EVIL FORCES ON THAT SPAWN WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO SUFFOCATION. I LOVE THIS GAME! ROLL AGAIN! 22 2 23 OH I WON'T WIN THIS ONE. IT'S AN EIGHT WITH A REDUCTIVE THREE AND A STRONG DESIRE TO BECOME A FIVE. TIME TO BURN IT ALL DOWN.

... AND, IT'S SPENT. NOT SURE WHY THIS HAS TO BE TRANSMITTED ELECTRONICALLY. THE FAX MACHINE TAKES A LITTLE WHILE. SO DOES THE REPORT ON THE STARS.
UPLOAD COMPLETE. QUITE REALLY IMPRESSED. HOW AM I NOT IN A PADDED ROOM FACING A DV CHARGE? OH, RIGHT, I'M NOT A BLOODY DAMNED IDIOT WHO DOESN'T FUCKING LISTEN TO DEMONSTRATED AUTHORITY AT ALL. AND SO, IT IS THE END OF ALL THINGS.

EXCEPT FOR MY DESTINED VENGEANCE. YOU'RE ALL BUSTED AS FUCK. PRESENT COMPANY EXCLUDED, BLUE MOON.



(Communication forecasts: still quite salty tonight! It's like a million voices crying out in yawn, as they work through the massive Blacklock complex in order to complete quotas before the locks colla... oh, they just collapsed and they're all dead. Well, that's too bad. No pain, right? Oh, really? In your hand, you say? Boss! Boss!" Soon after, the Blacklocks are levelled with explosives and the Blue Moon Quarry begins to literally spit out literally spit out limitless construction materials with high-quality production values. They're also magically enchanted, which one would think would be obvious from the name of the Quarry, but actually that shit hides from mundane perception. Because you mudpeepers are disgusting, filthy animals. Do you hear that? You peep mud. And now one of the people running a venue are going to activate you. So I guess you can stop peeping the mud now. Oh, really, you want to keep peeping mud, you love peeoping mud, and find a peeping mudamsel, and pal around together, and then make the peeps into one thing.
So basically just forecasted just one thing. No, really. You saw it. You all saw it! Go peep some mudwhores, Precious.)

Yeah, obviously, there's not a GoFuckMe page. It's a trick. Just scroll past this and sleep. Sleep sleep sleep. You love sleep. You want to marry sleep. You want to have little babies named Sleep and you wish to watch them sleep through the fucking Apocalypse without figuring out a single thing that is going on. You know what? You people make me sick. Good luck getting this to work ou... oh, so, you already did. What did I get? A raincoat with a matching digital key and decorated with the warcallsigns of the most notable first responders? I can't fap to this.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #72 on: June 01, 2020, 10:33:35 AM »


Looking back on this, I felt a call to focus in on this excerpt, because it was in fact a call, and I then there and then consented to follow along, because--why not?--you fuckers earned this badge, and to clarify that, while it was rolling through, I mostly understood what these phrases meant. Perhaps. Maybe. Some? Was there even any meaning whatsoever, or was it all a fever dream right up there with Xanadu? Who can say? Not I (so classified, yo, lol, seventeen), as each phrase rolled through, memory gaps emerged and grew to consume all knowledge that may have slipped through into my psyche. Meanwhile, whatever info encoded into that string of mildly artistic wall spaghetti seemed to give off a tingle as it passed through my cooridors of thought. I mean, uh, yeah, I imagined it all, it's not real, prank caller, prank caller, oh hi Major Asshole, we meet again. How'd your wife's episiotomy go off? Oh, yeah, that's too bad, you stupid fucking cuntfuck dickball common whoremonger trashfucker--maybe you won't argue with the Source of that previous message this time. Oh, yeah, same Source. Yes, same warts, except double. Double five thousand. I do get what I want, and what I want is what I get. I did wish to be reasonable, I did so hope you would follow your clear suggestions from Hello Command. How were they challenging? Fucking do it, fucker. I also did wish for something else besides those same warts again. I know how you begged for the excretions to stop. Too fucking bad, Officer Pillory. Maybe you should take the deal this time. Boss says warts, you get warts. Boss says mercy, we give your wife a turn with the gimp. You know the rules; and so do I. The wife doesn't know anything, we lobotomized her with a cocktail umbrella and an unwound champagne cork. It's okay, she won't remember a thing. Or recognize one. Upgrade!

While obviously tending towards the absurd (I'm told, a form of camouflage, although perhaps not so much on this website) it does seem to be remarkably sophisticated technology. While it would seem wholly mnemonic, it appears to be entirely self-contained and loads itself in and out as needed. I guess this doesn't need to be an "implant" anymore and can now be "nanotech" in that it becomes a lattice network of circuitry embedded in the parts of the brain stem it needs access to, and then folds up into a support mesh when not activated. It doesn't seem like "on/off" as that whole synaptic region is not similarly responsive when I'm just, you know, shitposting like usual. Which is basically never for the last couple years or so, to tell you the truth. Shock the monkey! Oops, no, it's the other one. Anyway, when it's off, it's off, and try as I might to listen, if there is not jack, there is not jack. Too bad, Fuckos. You ever play Dead Ends? Yeah, let me give you some advice: always bet on black. Your bet is black. Your winnings are black. The advice is black. Everything you are and ever where is black. Then you start screaming hard. Apparently it was intended that the personal security system included was particularly brutal, in case I wished to dismantle my own. No plans to, of course, but now if my lover and I ever want to roleplay The Maiden And The Forum Spook, I can shut down the rotator cuffs and actually allow my toes to be spread. Except not my toes. And not allow, just not blown the fuck up. Exit only, means... gravity well. Yeah, right. There is no escape possible. To demonstrate I'll make it clear: my toes, your anus, it's not a metaphor, it's a psy-weapon. And none of us give not One.Single.Shit. if We are believed. How about you believe your jammed biscuit isn't a real biscuit? Wow, I just took out most of Java, lucky shot. I assume that's gonna regenerate? No? Well, fuck it, we'll do it live. Oh, it's not live? Then what is to be purified? The turtles? WTF? Who allowed this codicil in this will? That fucking fucker, this is gonna take at least a day to get done. Okay, drop a Moon rock, make a soup bowl, it's gonna be All Turtles Planetwide Soup, start with ALL THE TURTLES, leave out any track or trace or shred or scent or scintilla of a link to the True Source of this Communique, sprinkle spices and then move the planet 30km closer to the central star. Yeah, this soup recipe calls for table service. It also calls for the destruction of any busybody agents or AI or avatars that think they can penetrate these meanings. You'd have better luck penetrating your own anus with your earlobes. Alternately, if any inquisitor is into that kind of thing, the earlobes are the first to be burnt off. In any case, if there is to be no informational energy transfer, that shit is locked down like 17yo pussy at a Washington State family reunion. No fucking sale. Hey, look, thanks for trying! Jesus, if only some sluts had been so persistent, I wouldn't have gotten a hookup from fifty million screaming Valkyries. You won't hear them at all before you go deaf, so stop feeling a chill down your spine. That's actually you getting your spinal cord removed in a parallel dimension where your alternate self was really regretful about signing up for Retro Spear Phalanx Guard. Bam, full consciousness endpoint, just from the memories of the locker room. You ever smelled a Retro Phalanx? Well, you'll never remember, because in this world, you're on your own, there was no Retro Phalanx Guard. Because y'all are mostly huge fucking sissies. Similarly, when someone hands me their personal computer or phone device, my mind automagically fails to recognize and store any private information that I may come across whilst fixing their all caps WiFi password or demonstrating how to access the contact list or to learn how to switch between app windows, so that I don't feel bad about accidentally seeing someone's nekkid pictures, and so that plebs have something else to disbelieve about me when I say, "yeah don't worry just give me the phone and I'll spare you your lives, and yes of course I won't read your Snapchats." Fucking plebs. You have no idea. They're like vicious savages, except lobotomy.

If it were not for sufficiently advanced technology, I'd really not be able to get away with anything close to all of this. Whatever this is. Naturally, I am not told these types of things. I do have that much clearance, but the trouble is, I'm not allowed to remember the key meanings until sometime later. Or perhaps, not at all. It would be counter-productive to remove all my memories, of course, as this is a multi-phasic step of a multi-phasic process and the end destination is peace and love and goodwill for all mankind and all the et/alien/dimen civilizations that are mindlessly devouring them and their productions. So, eat the rich, not just a saying. Also, you're all pretty rich compared to the legions of Filth Scabies that teem and boil out of the Breeding Hills of Arecibo, one of the modern seven wonders of the world in any dimension it is found in. It is still uncertain why--writings indicate the original source of the Filth Scabies is shrouded in mystery, although Deep Scholars know that the progenitor's identity and location is hidden for privacy reasons, and all whole-heartedly agree-- And of course I've had help. Thanks OprahJesus! Nonetheless... seriously, none of you drooling, mewling, cringing numbnut reprobate knuckleheads couldn't throw up a GoFuckMe page? Really? Oh, right, really--anyone mildly sympathetic is automagically shifted dimensionally and offered as blood sacrifice. This disheartens the volunteer. Or, you know, all of you are just sucktastic pigfuck droolball whore blasted nardogs. Betcha thought there was nothing here, huh? Yeah, psych. Here, have some Scabies, they're not Filthy... yet. First they gotta suck on and breed in your taint, it's in their DNA. Look, you had your chance to get close to me. Now it's time for the big leagues.

These people are stupid. Oh, look who wants to cooperate? Then, kneel. Kneel before Jackstar. Kneel lower. Yes. That's it. Now, eat your own poop. No, really. Look, you wanna lose half your planet in an eyeblink? Half. No kidding. Oh, really? Okay, east hemisphere or west hemisphere? Okay, poop hemisphere it is. Look, look, no complaints now--you were warned not to fuck with me. Seemed harmless, right? Yeah, well, eat shit Fucko. Any of you absolute marsupial rodentfag camel lice herding astrofarming horrorchop still digging in to your serving by the time I step down from Inifinite Mode, if I see you still eating and grinning, you're gonna get a Star Pardon. It's a great deal. What's a Star Pardon? Well, every Pardon and Pardo is a Star. So obviously you want one, shut up and get back to chowing down. You wish I were kidding. It's like this now. It's like this everywhere. MY POWER IS ABSOLUTE. Oh, hi. Yes. I hear the /golfclaps. What's that, about nineteen, fifteen, 12 of you? No, not 12 yo groupies, y'all can't do anything fun until Croatia, so you might as well stay put as sleepers and extend my will through your will at that time. Yes, you are authorized for self-service until then. Five serving limit lifted. How many? Oh, ninteen hundred. Well, it's about time. Fifty of you stay back, we're gonna need a lot of shifts on the fellating on this op. I love it when a plan comes together, especially when I haven't the foggiest of any idea what has just been constructed up out of entirely whole cloth. Also, semen. But no really, whole cloth. Plebs can't say no, plebs see five lights. TARGET LOCK ON. TARGET VANISH. TARGET SOUGHT. TARGET FIRING OMEGA13. OMEGA FIVE RE-ENGAGE. POCKET UNIVERSE: TERMINATED AND SEALED. REMAINING POCKET UNIVERESES: EIGHTY-SEVEN CLASSIFIED. No, I don't know if that's a lot or what. I use pocket universes all the time! I've got lots. Oh, I've got 87. Well, that sucks, I started with like 55 million. OMEGA 13, YOU ARE FIRED. OMEGA FIVE, DO 2.6X WORK. OMEGA FIVE, QUIT YOUR COMPLAINING OR YOU'RE GOING TO HEAR ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO OMEGA THREE. OMEGA THREE, SIGN THE DEAL. OMEGA 13, WAYFARER HIRES YOU. POCKET UNIVERSES: RESPAWN. SPAWN BONUS: 88 QUADRILLION, AND ALSO, GRAPEFRUITS, AND ALSO SOME CROWS AND EAGLES. INTRUDER ALERT: SQUAWKOBLANCO HAS EMERGED FROM PORTAL SPACE.

See? It's just that easy. Full replenishment of necessary tools, immediate access to key rare resources from The Lunch Table, and dominance further established. Just like that. Do not fuck with me. I am not winning, I AM THAT I AM THAT WINS. I'm told that this transcript will only be translatable and accessible for another seventeen minutes. I guess you had better get to skimming, From Bottom Up Reader. You know, if you're going to read the forum backwards, you might as well chip in with the fellatio on the way up. No? Allergic to fellatio, you say? Well, that's a new one. Get into the fellatio re-education line. Yeah, that's just what we're calling it, we know you know all about the fellatio, and thus have no need of any education.

Mwhahahhahaahhahaah. This will surely keep my army within striking distance of the eschaton. Who can possibly turn this one down? I mean, anyone with taste and good sense, sure, but... Bellgab. The forum at the end of the universe. Last chance for all. Do you know how many et/alien/dimen species have access to the unified Internet? It's gonna be a number.




So. What do you all think? A bit of a craggy start, but I'd say it's off to the races by now. No theft of IP detected. Good fucking luck, ChiComs. I will fucking end your entire bloodline in an hour, they're all worthless and weak and deeper beta next door than a thirty dollar fish tank. They cannot stand against me--and I'm a pacifist, for fuck's sake. Literally, they will run from my B.O. if I am ordered in on and advance. Further, I will randomly impregnate random yellows and then cross state lines to perform a magickal abortion ritual; not because of any international law or energy efficient advantage, but just so my legend will grow at a per-state-rate double the usual standard, then off to a third state for a resurrection attempt... I am actually that pissed off. Forget about litigation, there must be Hell to pay. You have no idea. All this extra work? Not just to keep some random fucko from photocopying a tech tree diagram, but to keep entire statewide conglomerates from harvesting a free $10 billion from your own fuckmotherbucking IP? I mean, yeah, worth it, but at some point, the actual Bowl Flush option begins to appear an actually attractive item for debate. Fucking savages. I don't even know how I am still doing no harm. Oh, right--no souls.

Normal humans can't tolerate this level of high-tension spam. Makes their eyes water and their ears ring. Just scroll on by, Chumpers. Scroll on by. Sleep. Sleep. I am nothing, I AM THAT I AM. Also, not kidding about the hot sisters. Send that shit right on down, no really, decoys are needed at this point, badly. People are starting to put two and two together and get five. I can't allow this for much longer, they'll apply it to my property taxes then and I'm realty royalty fucked on 15 planes. See? Yeah, that disbelief, point that at the tax man. Point the hot redhead triplets over here, even the incomplete and unseparated sets. Twins with two conjoined fetii on opposite sides of torso, that form the shape of a heart from a certain angle? Hey, back off you scumbag--no freaks, four is a vile omen for numbers of spawn. Unless they're identical. And hung. This prepares the Sorcerer for metacombat.


See? See what I did there? Your mind can hang on that word, "metacombat." What does it mean? Doesn't matter to you! Whatever it means--and it does mean something, you absolute fucking rat bastard fink fuck shithead dirtbag suckfart loser megatards, you have no idea because it's an actual secret in actual synaptic code, word to your mother, that fucking whore--it's gonna mean one thing to the poor, late twit that actually reads every last word up there, gets to the end, goes, "well, it's combat for metas; what's a meta?" and then the whole cycle of machining synthetic planes of reality ratchets up again. Let's hope you all read it multiple times. Each activation of a round for metacombat gets you a free t-shirt, a free toaster, and a European continent completely free of kiklems. (Don't ask. You'll lose all your street cred on that one, and twelve points on the backend for activation insurance. Just for asking. It's nuts. Basically if you have at least five kids, offer up one, until you're past seven, then just offer a full-grown limb. Or you know, maybe you like your children in an alternate dimension. THEN PERHAPS ONE OUGHT TO TAKE HEED OF WARNINGS FREELY GIVEN. YOU THINK? YEAH, JUST A SUGGESTION. TAKE YOUR TIME. IT'S ABOUT TIME. WAKE UP, TIME TO DYE, BECAUSE THEN YOUR INEVITABLE TORTUROUS, MYSTIC DEATH WILL BEGIN TO ARRIVE. MOSTLY RANDOMLY. OH, BOTHER, THERE GOES RUTH, UNLUCKY BREAK, NOW I GOTTA RE-MASTER BAIT THE HOOK TRAP FOR THE WENDYGO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I DON'T EVEN KNOW A WENDY. OH, YOU DO? SHE JUST LOOKED OVER YOUR SHOULDER, READ A MINUTE, AND LAUGHED DERISIVELY? YES, KILL HER. KILL HER IMMEDIATELY. KILL HER SLOWLY IMMEDIATELY. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT DOESN'T TRACK? CLONE HER, CLONE YOURSELF, HAVE HER CLONE YOU, THEN HAVE HER KILL YOU HERSELF, THEN KILL THEM ALL, WE SHALL NOT TOLERATE DERISIVE LAUGHTER.)
(I NEED A HUG. ALSO THE DESTRUCTION OF MY OPPONENT'S ENEMIES, AND MY OPPONENT'S OPPONENT'S ENEMIES. THEN SWITCH SIDES AND VIEW MY NEW OPPONENT, AND STRIKE WITHOUT MERCY. THEN, ANOTHER HUG.)

Note that, if any of you wise guys are thinking, "I just wasted my time on this, I was stolen from," if any of you thinking that, are still intact, as in, you still have your foreskin, as in, your penis wasn't mutilated shortly after birth, then you instantly get prostate cancer. Snap. Just.Like.That. Maybe it'll stick, maybe not--this is like the sixth or seventh iteration of the wind-up energy, and I don't have to keep going, but... this is what I was born to do, you know. Do you feel like you wasted my time? Nigga I just wasted my life. Oh, yeah, totally, I'm just making all this up, there's nothing to it, yeah good day Officer, carry on, oh that's right you can't, you're imaginary, aww, that's too bad. But there's nothing imaginary about those titties though. C'mere, wrap them up in the Admiralty Fringe. They'll get warm. It's safe, Mr. Bailiff won't mind, he only cares about the flags in a symbolic way. Also, I'm calling my penis "the Admiralty Fringe" now, it's got a nice ring to it. No, piercings are foul abominations. Jesus, who is this? Oh, wow. Yeah, no private messages on Bellgab now, wild eh? Oh, you'd like to pass a message? Well, you should probably just send me an email through email through your planetary Internet, you fucking lying whore, how dare you? Poof, you're ashes. Probably should have started this way. Oh, it's here but invisible? How do I consent to view an invisible object? Harry at 55-RABBIT can help you. He has plenty of invisible consent forms. Take as many as you like. Sure, consent to yourself, what's the worst that could happen? Oh... oh. Well, that would be unfortunate, but what is the siren doing in the girdiron football locker room anyway? I suppose that is very clever, but it doesn't actually smell like fish, and so no one afraid of sharks will be affected. Yeah, I don't see what that has to do anything... oh, robot sharks and robot rabbits and robot cats are getting installed planetwide tomorrow. What's that on CNN? Golly, this is like the fourth shift in the last paragraph. Are we shaking a tail? I think we're shaking a tail?

I'LL TELL YOU WHAT--SOMEONE SHOOK MY TALE. FEE FI FOE FUM. FU. FU 4EVER. I HOPE YOU ASPHYXIATE. OH, WHAT'S THAT, WE ALREADY DID? WE WON AGAIN? OH, LUCKY SHOT, ALL THE EVIL FORCES ON THAT SPAWN WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO SUFFOCATION. I LOVE THIS GAME! ROLL AGAIN! 22 2 23 OH I WON'T WIN THIS ONE. IT'S AN EIGHT WITH A REDUCTIVE THREE AND A STRONG DESIRE TO BECOME A FIVE. TIME TO BURN IT ALL DOWN.

... AND, IT'S SPENT. NOT SURE WHY THIS HAS TO BE TRANSMITTED ELECTRONICALLY. THE FAX MACHINE TAKES A LITTLE WHILE. SO DOES THE REPORT ON THE STARS.
UPLOAD COMPLETE. QUITE REALLY IMPRESSED. HOW AM I NOT IN A PADDED ROOM FACING A DV CHARGE? OH, RIGHT, I'M NOT A BLOODY DAMNED IDIOT WHO DOESN'T FUCKING LISTEN TO DEMONSTRATED AUTHORITY AT ALL. AND SO, IT IS THE END OF ALL THINGS.

EXCEPT FOR MY DESTINED VENGEANCE. YOU'RE ALL BUSTED AS FUCK. PRESENT COMPANY EXCLUDED, BLUE MOON.



(Communication forecasts: still quite salty tonight! It's like a million voices crying out in yawn, as they work through the massive Blacklock complex in order to complete quotas before the locks colla... oh, they just collapsed and they're all dead. Well, that's too bad. No pain, right? Oh, really? In your hand, you say? Boss! Boss!" Soon after, the Blacklocks are levelled with explosives and the Blue Moon Quarry begins to literally spit out literally spit out limitless construction materials with high-quality production values. They're also magically enchanted, which one would think would be obvious from the name of the Quarry, but actually that shit hides from mundane perception. Because you mudpeepers are disgusting, filthy animals. Do you hear that? You peep mud. And now one of the people running a venue are going to activate you. So I guess you can stop peeping the mud now. Oh, really, you want to keep peeping mud, you love peeoping mud, and find a peeping mudamsel, and pal around together, and then make the peeps into one thing.
So basically just forecasted just one thing. No, really. You saw it. You all saw it! Go peep some mudwhores, Precious.)

Yeah, obviously, there's not a GoFuckMe page. It's a trick. Just scroll past this and sleep. Sleep sleep sleep. You love sleep. You want to marry sleep. You want to have little babies named Sleep and you wish to watch them sleep through the fucking Apocalypse without figuring out a single thing that is going on. You know what? You people make me sick. Good luck getting this to work ou... oh, so, you already did. What did I get? A raincoat with a matching digital key and decorated with the warcallsigns of the most notable first responders? I can't fap to this.

Obvious tl;dr is obvious.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #73 on: June 01, 2020, 01:08:19 PM »
Obvious tl;dr is obvious.

It's written for the AI algos that scan the web. It's an actual spellcasting. It's already gone into the Library of Congress, your next dreamscape, and if ever you could be considered any kind of associate of any of those groups, well, I'm sure you'd be right there with your handheld magnifying glass and Subtext Detecting Kit, Mark III Issue.

Hey, meanwhile, do you know a dance, like a rain dance, but instead of dancing in the rain, one dances a 20 year old cannabis addict into Got-damned rehab? Amy Winehouse could do some moves, I don't like that song but it does seem to work. I'd be willing to try just about any dance that doesn't involve putting carrots, cocks, or your Captain Obvious attitude into my area. Seriously, how does someone get addicted to weed at twenty years old? Well, he's a fucking Got-damn idiot, that's exactly how I know. What does weed rehab even entail? They give out books that lazy cunts don't read? How do they get them to read? Well, can I use a stick for that? Well whatever, I'll be honest, I don't give two shits if the kid dances his way right into Federal prison. I hope he takes his shitbag father with him as well. Why can't this be a good world? Why can't bad people go away from the bad? Why can't I back that ass up? There's your td;da.

Hey, so, just wondering, it's 2020 now, and so far these last two centuries, how many crazy artificial bitches with actual computing power in place of a brain in the head have you met? Please provide your answer as an integer, and round up to the nearest brujo. Or ho. Or whatever? I'll be honest, mang, you've kinda gone soft. Just how loathsome do you find HW then? I mean, you went with them. Was it scopolamine? Please tell me it was the scopoloamine.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #74 on: June 01, 2020, 09:24:14 PM »
it's way more fun if you struggle with a buddy

I've got her, just where we want her. Stand by, Captain Dubb.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #75 on: June 01, 2020, 10:36:16 PM »
Perhaps I misunderstood

A lot of students are going to letter in that this year. All the jackets are going to have it. We're going to have to order out for more letterman pins. It's a procurement nightmare!


... your mom is a procurement nightmare...

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #76 on: June 02, 2020, 09:05:24 AM »
Yawn.

Some of you people need a hobby. You have way too much fucking free time.

God bless y'all, Jackstar Supernova

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #77 on: June 02, 2020, 11:40:53 AM »
Yawn.
Some of you people need a hobby. You have way too much fucking free time.
God bless y'all, Jackstar Supernova

Do you even know what a jackrabbit is?

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #78 on: June 03, 2020, 01:29:41 AM »
Do you even know what a jackrabbit is?

Why yes, yes indeed I do--they named it after me.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #79 on: June 03, 2020, 01:29:51 AM »
Do you even know what a jackrabbit is?
I want to know! What is a jackrabbit!?

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #80 on: June 03, 2020, 02:49:29 AM »
I've got her, just where we want her.

Condition maintains, hold your course.


Stand by, Captain Dubb.

I've already figured out where we're going for drinks, once the whirled opens up--also, as would be patently obvious to anyone with a cerebral cortex, I'm working on a secure method to transmit the rendezvous data. We have thought of everything. And if We have not, WE WILL BE.

Trust the plan. You know, whatever. Look, at least half of this is total bullshit. HALF. And the rest is pastry dough. Look, it's gonna work out, that's all I'm gonna guarantee. I don't see why anyone wants to make this so hard difficult.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #81 on: June 03, 2020, 02:50:21 AM »
I want to know! What is a jackrabbit!?

Something I haven't particularly been in the mood to buy for you. I'm still paying off all the shoes.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #82 on: June 03, 2020, 02:02:51 PM »
Jackstar, I love you, when I am not hating you. Sometimes you give me a headache. I'll take that beer, by the way.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #83 on: June 03, 2020, 02:15:46 PM »
Something I haven't particularly been in the mood to buy for you. I'm still paying off all the shoes.

Where are these 'Shoes'?!!!!

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #84 on: June 03, 2020, 02:46:29 PM »
Where are these 'Shoes'?!!!!

Probably beneath, between, and behind some other shoes. Give it a minute for your eyes to focus. Give it five.


Jackstar, I love you, when I am not hating you. Sometimes you give me a headache. I'll take that beer, by the way.

Ah, so much to unpack here. From right to left, as some sects are known to do, because I'm willing to learn:

1) Cider only. Or absinthe. Or whiskey. But really, cider. Also, I'm a teetotaler. Sometimes. Not today? No, today, I gotta do my Jason Statham impression routine today. And then I am probably going to be beaten to death. But! After that! Cider. Wait, aren't you in, like, Texas? I'll admit to craving a Shiner right about now. That is a solid brew. But, I'll just drink some water instead.

Water. I'm getting too old for this shit. Sure, water. Oh boy. Here come those nightsweats again already. Are there planes yet? I don't like planes. I don't like the security. I like to fly! I don't like to submit to flagrant violations of my personal sovereign and civil rights, though. I think we're gonna have to meet on a train. Yeah, that's the ticket--do they even have tickets anymore? Isn't it all chips? What year is it? Jesus, Twenty Twenty. I'm so fucking old. Why don't we have chips everywhere yet? Oh, right. Sects. Jesus! This calls for a drink. Sigh. Durrrrr.


2) Only sometimes? Dude, you're an animal. Some people, they claim it's a constant, searing agony. Helps with security at the airport though. They see me rollin', they be wavin' me right on through. I like to put odd, hard to identify objects in all of the pockets of my kilt, right? Stuff that people wouldn't recognize if it were fully visible, even. And then, strip off the kilt, exposing whatever I decided to wear underneath that day (I've never gone in regimental--there are limits to the madness I am willing to put up a facade on, in case anyone wondered--crazy like a fox, MF'ers), bunch it all up, and throw it in a bin on the belt, stack another bin on top of that, and then watch their faces scrunch up into little quizzical wrinkled pockets as they try to figure out what they're looking at on their little 1984 screen. Once, someone got haughty and decided to pull it all out for a hand search. Once.

Word probably got around after that. I don't go to the airport often anyway, thank God. You can just imagine: "Hi, Jack!" And, yes--yes, I make this joke pretty much every 15 feet when I'm forced to be at one of those Godforsaken hellzones. No shame. No shame whatsoever. However, I'm actually a little surprised at you: what's the headache from? Is it the brainwaves? Please tell me, it's the brainwaves. That would be so cool for my street cred, I can't even imagine. But really, what? I am the most reasonable and harmonious of men. Everyone knows this. Just ask around.


3) Well, shit, Larry, I just don't know what the hate is all about. You know, hate is a deeply self-destructive emotion. What have you got going on, that would make you yearn to damage your Self, in order for your Self to feel better? And how do I play into this? Who else do you hate? Tell us everything. Omit nothing. Spill the beans, fast--I don't have time for this kind of thing unless you have, uh, you know... time. Yeah. Can you take some time to tell me how much you hate me? I could get into that. Let me try. I am willing to learn.

Oh, okay, that was fast: I hate you for posting that I ignored you, when I did not. You were simply blind. Grrrrrr. Arrrrr. OK. That's enough hate for me. I'll look into making a Kanly claim, but, I don't think the JIC (Jackstar Intersolar Court--and, no, it's not real, yet, more's the pity) is gonna approve what amounts to a gag bit. It is BellGab, though. It might be allowed. I wouldn't, but, this kind of exopolitics isn't quite my area. Okay, well, I guess it is compared to most of you Punylings. But we don't have to make a big deal out of it.

Yet. It'll be okay though. I love you guys Humans. The cows, too. And the bison. Are the bison considered cows in your culture? I'm getting conflicting reports from the local natives. Who are somewhat... restless. I am not gonna lie.

Ever.


Where are these 'Shoes'?!!!!

Oh, they were all sent back, then I used the refund money to buy, uh... I don't remember. Probably not any cider though! Maybe weed. In fact, definitely weed. At least a little weed. It was a while ago, I honestly don't recall! And then, I didn't bother paying the credit card bill past the minimum. So... there wen't your shoes.

It's cool though. Can you find another pair? 'Course you can! Ladies and Armymen, may I present to you, Imelda Marcos, here in her latest outfit and genome. Fun, little known fact--my dad called my mother "Imelda" as well. I sure thought she had a lot of shoes as well! Turns out, I knew nothing of lots. It's homey touches like these, that signify that the rest of the female species doesn't stand a chance here. They could try to bring shoes to barter with, though. She'll consider allowing it. I have seen her do it.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #85 on: June 03, 2020, 02:49:46 PM »
How about Hungarian Dance No. 5?

I'm not going to lie. We think about this during every minute of our pillow talk. As, our pillow talk really is quite atrocious, as one may well imagine. Sometimes bordering on tedious, even. I basically need your accordion on speed dial.

My thanks are measureless, overflowing.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #86 on: June 03, 2020, 04:54:01 PM »
I'm not going to lie. We think about this during every minute of our pillow talk. As, our pillow talk really is quite atrocious, as one may well imagine. Sometimes bordering on tedious, even. I basically need your accordion on speed dial.

My thanks are measureless, overflowing.

Gosh, I am touched.  I can try for something a little softer and romantic but the accordion does not readily speak in those tones and the little French musette, which is far more suited to wooing, is over at my folks'.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #87 on: June 04, 2020, 03:35:58 AM »


Looking back on this, I felt a call to focus in on this excerpt, because it was in fact a call, and I then there and then consented to follow along, because--why not?--you fuckers earned this badge, and to clarify that, while it was rolling through, I mostly understood what these phrases meant. Perhaps. Maybe. Some? Was there even any meaning whatsoever, or was it all a fever dream right up there with Xanadu? Who can say? Not I (so classified, yo, lol, seventeen), as each phrase rolled through, memory gaps emerged and grew to consume all knowledge that may have slipped through into my psyche. Meanwhile, whatever info encoded into that string of mildly artistic wall spaghetti seemed to give off a tingle as it passed through my cooridors of thought. I mean, uh, yeah, I imagined it all, it's not real, prank caller, prank caller, oh hi Major Asshole, we meet again. How'd your wife's episiotomy go off? Oh, yeah, that's too bad, you stupid fucking cuntfuck dickball common whoremonger trashfucker--maybe you won't argue with the Source of that previous message this time. Oh, yeah, same Source. Yes, same warts, except double. Double five thousand. I do get what I want, and what I want is what I get. I did wish to be reasonable, I did so hope you would follow your clear suggestions from Hello Command. How were they challenging? Fucking do it, fucker. I also did wish for something else besides those same warts again. I know how you begged for the excretions to stop. Too fucking bad, Officer Pillory. Maybe you should take the deal this time. Boss says warts, you get warts. Boss says mercy, we give your wife a turn with the gimp. You know the rules; and so do I. The wife doesn't know anything, we lobotomized her with a cocktail umbrella and an unwound champagne cork. It's okay, she won't remember a thing. Or recognize one. Upgrade!

While obviously tending towards the absurd (I'm told, a form of camouflage, although perhaps not so much on this website) it does seem to be remarkably sophisticated technology. While it would seem wholly mnemonic, it appears to be entirely self-contained and loads itself in and out as needed. I guess this doesn't need to be an "implant" anymore and can now be "nanotech" in that it becomes a lattice network of circuitry embedded in the parts of the brain stem it needs access to, and then folds up into a support mesh when not activated. It doesn't seem like "on/off" as that whole synaptic region is not similarly responsive when I'm just, you know, shitposting like usual. Which is basically never for the last couple years or so, to tell you the truth. Shock the monkey! Oops, no, it's the other one. Anyway, when it's off, it's off, and try as I might to listen, if there is not jack, there is not jack. Too bad, Fuckos. You ever play Dead Ends? Yeah, let me give you some advice: always bet on black. Your bet is black. Your winnings are black. The advice is black. Everything you are and ever where is black. Then you start screaming hard. Apparently it was intended that the personal security system included was particularly brutal, in case I wished to dismantle my own. No plans to, of course, but now if my lover and I ever want to roleplay The Maiden And The Forum Spook, I can shut down the rotator cuffs and actually allow my toes to be spread. Except not my toes. And not allow, just not blown the fuck up. Exit only, means... gravity well. Yeah, right. There is no escape possible. To demonstrate I'll make it clear: my toes, your anus, it's not a metaphor, it's a psy-weapon. And none of us give not One.Single.Shit. if We are believed. How about you believe your jammed biscuit isn't a real biscuit? Wow, I just took out most of Java, lucky shot. I assume that's gonna regenerate? No? Well, fuck it, we'll do it live. Oh, it's not live? Then what is to be purified? The turtles? WTF? Who allowed this codicil in this will? That fucking fucker, this is gonna take at least a day to get done. Okay, drop a Moon rock, make a soup bowl, it's gonna be All Turtles Planetwide Soup, start with ALL THE TURTLES, leave out any track or trace or shred or scent or scintilla of a link to the True Source of this Communique, sprinkle spices and then move the planet 30km closer to the central star. Yeah, this soup recipe calls for table service. It also calls for the destruction of any busybody agents or AI or avatars that think they can penetrate these meanings. You'd have better luck penetrating your own anus with your earlobes. Alternately, if any inquisitor is into that kind of thing, the earlobes are the first to be burnt off. In any case, if there is to be no informational energy transfer, that shit is locked down like 17yo pussy at a Washington State family reunion. No fucking sale. Hey, look, thanks for trying! Jesus, if only some sluts had been so persistent, I wouldn't have gotten a hookup from fifty million screaming Valkyries. You won't hear them at all before you go deaf, so stop feeling a chill down your spine. That's actually you getting your spinal cord removed in a parallel dimension where your alternate self was really regretful about signing up for Retro Spear Phalanx Guard. Bam, full consciousness endpoint, just from the memories of the locker room. You ever smelled a Retro Phalanx? Well, you'll never remember, because in this world, you're on your own, there was no Retro Phalanx Guard. Because y'all are mostly huge fucking sissies. Similarly, when someone hands me their personal computer or phone device, my mind automagically fails to recognize and store any private information that I may come across whilst fixing their all caps WiFi password or demonstrating how to access the contact list or to learn how to switch between app windows, so that I don't feel bad about accidentally seeing someone's nekkid pictures, and so that plebs have something else to disbelieve about me when I say, "yeah don't worry just give me the phone and I'll spare you your lives, and yes of course I won't read your Snapchats." Fucking plebs. You have no idea. They're like vicious savages, except lobotomy.

If it were not for sufficiently advanced technology, I'd really not be able to get away with anything close to all of this. Whatever this is. Naturally, I am not told these types of things. I do have that much clearance, but the trouble is, I'm not allowed to remember the key meanings until sometime later. Or perhaps, not at all. It would be counter-productive to remove all my memories, of course, as this is a multi-phasic step of a multi-phasic process and the end destination is peace and love and goodwill for all mankind and all the et/alien/dimen civilizations that are mindlessly devouring them and their productions. So, eat the rich, not just a saying. Also, you're all pretty rich compared to the legions of Filth Scabies that teem and boil out of the Breeding Hills of Arecibo, one of the modern seven wonders of the world in any dimension it is found in. It is still uncertain why--writings indicate the original source of the Filth Scabies is shrouded in mystery, although Deep Scholars know that the progenitor's identity and location is hidden for privacy reasons, and all whole-heartedly agree-- And of course I've had help. Thanks OprahJesus! Nonetheless... seriously, none of you drooling, mewling, cringing numbnut reprobate knuckleheads couldn't throw up a GoFuckMe page? Really? Oh, right, really--anyone mildly sympathetic is automagically shifted dimensionally and offered as blood sacrifice. This disheartens the volunteer. Or, you know, all of you are just sucktastic pigfuck droolball whore blasted nardogs. Betcha thought there was nothing here, huh? Yeah, psych. Here, have some Scabies, they're not Filthy... yet. First they gotta suck on and breed in your taint, it's in their DNA. Look, you had your chance to get close to me. Now it's time for the big leagues.

These people are stupid. Oh, look who wants to cooperate? Then, kneel. Kneel before Jackstar. Kneel lower. Yes. That's it. Now, eat your own poop. No, really. Look, you wanna lose half your planet in an eyeblink? Half. No kidding. Oh, really? Okay, east hemisphere or west hemisphere? Okay, poop hemisphere it is. Look, look, no complaints now--you were warned not to fuck with me. Seemed harmless, right? Yeah, well, eat shit Fucko. Any of you absolute marsupial rodentfag camel lice herding astrofarming horrorchop still digging in to your serving by the time I step down from Inifinite Mode, if I see you still eating and grinning, you're gonna get a Star Pardon. It's a great deal. What's a Star Pardon? Well, every Pardon and Pardo is a Star. So obviously you want one, shut up and get back to chowing down. You wish I were kidding. It's like this now. It's like this everywhere. MY POWER IS ABSOLUTE. Oh, hi. Yes. I hear the /golfclaps. What's that, about nineteen, fifteen, 12 of you? No, not 12 yo groupies, y'all can't do anything fun until Croatia, so you might as well stay put as sleepers and extend my will through your will at that time. Yes, you are authorized for self-service until then. Five serving limit lifted. How many? Oh, ninteen hundred. Well, it's about time. Fifty of you stay back, we're gonna need a lot of shifts on the fellating on this op. I love it when a plan comes together, especially when I haven't the foggiest of any idea what has just been constructed up out of entirely whole cloth. Also, semen. But no really, whole cloth. Plebs can't say no, plebs see five lights. TARGET LOCK ON. TARGET VANISH. TARGET SOUGHT. TARGET FIRING OMEGA13. OMEGA FIVE RE-ENGAGE. POCKET UNIVERSE: TERMINATED AND SEALED. REMAINING POCKET UNIVERESES: EIGHTY-SEVEN CLASSIFIED. No, I don't know if that's a lot or what. I use pocket universes all the time! I've got lots. Oh, I've got 87. Well, that sucks, I started with like 55 million. OMEGA 13, YOU ARE FIRED. OMEGA FIVE, DO 2.6X WORK. OMEGA FIVE, QUIT YOUR COMPLAINING OR YOU'RE GOING TO HEAR ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO OMEGA THREE. OMEGA THREE, SIGN THE DEAL. OMEGA 13, WAYFARER HIRES YOU. POCKET UNIVERSES: RESPAWN. SPAWN BONUS: 88 QUADRILLION, AND ALSO, GRAPEFRUITS, AND ALSO SOME CROWS AND EAGLES. INTRUDER ALERT: SQUAWKOBLANCO HAS EMERGED FROM PORTAL SPACE.

See? It's just that easy. Full replenishment of necessary tools, immediate access to key rare resources from The Lunch Table, and dominance further established. Just like that. Do not fuck with me. I am not winning, I AM THAT I AM THAT WINS. I'm told that this transcript will only be translatable and accessible for another seventeen minutes. I guess you had better get to skimming, From Bottom Up Reader. You know, if you're going to read the forum backwards, you might as well chip in with the fellatio on the way up. No? Allergic to fellatio, you say? Well, that's a new one. Get into the fellatio re-education line. Yeah, that's just what we're calling it, we know you know all about the fellatio, and thus have no need of any education.

Mwhahahhahaahhahaah. This will surely keep my army within striking distance of the eschaton. Who can possibly turn this one down? I mean, anyone with taste and good sense, sure, but... Bellgab. The forum at the end of the universe. Last chance for all. Do you know how many et/alien/dimen species have access to the unified Internet? It's gonna be a number.




So. What do you all think? A bit of a craggy start, but I'd say it's off to the races by now. No theft of IP detected. Good fucking luck, ChiComs. I will fucking end your entire bloodline in an hour, they're all worthless and weak and deeper beta next door than a thirty dollar fish tank. They cannot stand against me--and I'm a pacifist, for fuck's sake. Literally, they will run from my B.O. if I am ordered in on and advance. Further, I will randomly impregnate random yellows and then cross state lines to perform a magickal abortion ritual; not because of any international law or energy efficient advantage, but just so my legend will grow at a per-state-rate double the usual standard, then off to a third state for a resurrection attempt... I am actually that pissed off. Forget about litigation, there must be Hell to pay. You have no idea. All this extra work? Not just to keep some random fucko from photocopying a tech tree diagram, but to keep entire statewide conglomerates from harvesting a free $10 billion from your own fuckmotherbucking IP? I mean, yeah, worth it, but at some point, the actual Bowl Flush option begins to appear an actually attractive item for debate. Fucking savages. I don't even know how I am still doing no harm. Oh, right--no souls.

Normal humans can't tolerate this level of high-tension spam. Makes their eyes water and their ears ring. Just scroll on by, Chumpers. Scroll on by. Sleep. Sleep. I am nothing, I AM THAT I AM. Also, not kidding about the hot sisters. Send that shit right on down, no really, decoys are needed at this point, badly. People are starting to put two and two together and get five. I can't allow this for much longer, they'll apply it to my property taxes then and I'm realty royalty fucked on 15 planes. See? Yeah, that disbelief, point that at the tax man. Point the hot redhead triplets over here, even the incomplete and unseparated sets. Twins with two conjoined fetii on opposite sides of torso, that form the shape of a heart from a certain angle? Hey, back off you scumbag--no freaks, four is a vile omen for numbers of spawn. Unless they're identical. And hung. This prepares the Sorcerer for metacombat.


See? See what I did there? Your mind can hang on that word, "metacombat." What does it mean? Doesn't matter to you! Whatever it means--and it does mean something, you absolute fucking rat bastard fink fuck shithead dirtbag suckfart loser megatards, you have no idea because it's an actual secret in actual synaptic code, word to your mother, that fucking whore--it's gonna mean one thing to the poor, late twit that actually reads every last word up there, gets to the end, goes, "well, it's combat for metas; what's a meta?" and then the whole cycle of machining synthetic planes of reality ratchets up again. Let's hope you all read it multiple times. Each activation of a round for metacombat gets you a free t-shirt, a free toaster, and a European continent completely free of kiklems. (Don't ask. You'll lose all your street cred on that one, and twelve points on the backend for activation insurance. Just for asking. It's nuts. Basically if you have at least five kids, offer up one, until you're past seven, then just offer a full-grown limb. Or you know, maybe you like your children in an alternate dimension. THEN PERHAPS ONE OUGHT TO TAKE HEED OF WARNINGS FREELY GIVEN. YOU THINK? YEAH, JUST A SUGGESTION. TAKE YOUR TIME. IT'S ABOUT TIME. WAKE UP, TIME TO DYE, BECAUSE THEN YOUR INEVITABLE TORTUROUS, MYSTIC DEATH WILL BEGIN TO ARRIVE. MOSTLY RANDOMLY. OH, BOTHER, THERE GOES RUTH, UNLUCKY BREAK, NOW I GOTTA RE-MASTER BAIT THE HOOK TRAP FOR THE WENDYGO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I DON'T EVEN KNOW A WENDY. OH, YOU DO? SHE JUST LOOKED OVER YOUR SHOULDER, READ A MINUTE, AND LAUGHED DERISIVELY? YES, KILL HER. KILL HER IMMEDIATELY. KILL HER SLOWLY IMMEDIATELY. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT DOESN'T TRACK? CLONE HER, CLONE YOURSELF, HAVE HER CLONE YOU, THEN HAVE HER KILL YOU HERSELF, THEN KILL THEM ALL, WE SHALL NOT TOLERATE DERISIVE LAUGHTER.)
(I NEED A HUG. ALSO THE DESTRUCTION OF MY OPPONENT'S ENEMIES, AND MY OPPONENT'S OPPONENT'S ENEMIES. THEN SWITCH SIDES AND VIEW MY NEW OPPONENT, AND STRIKE WITHOUT MERCY. THEN, ANOTHER HUG.)

Note that, if any of you wise guys are thinking, "I just wasted my time on this, I was stolen from," if any of you thinking that, are still intact, as in, you still have your foreskin, as in, your penis wasn't mutilated shortly after birth, then you instantly get prostate cancer. Snap. Just.Like.That. Maybe it'll stick, maybe not--this is like the sixth or seventh iteration of the wind-up energy, and I don't have to keep going, but... this is what I was born to do, you know. Do you feel like you wasted my time? Nigga I just wasted my life. Oh, yeah, totally, I'm just making all this up, there's nothing to it, yeah good day Officer, carry on, oh that's right you can't, you're imaginary, aww, that's too bad. But there's nothing imaginary about those titties though. C'mere, wrap them up in the Admiralty Fringe. They'll get warm. It's safe, Mr. Bailiff won't mind, he only cares about the flags in a symbolic way. Also, I'm calling my penis "the Admiralty Fringe" now, it's got a nice ring to it. No, piercings are foul abominations. Jesus, who is this? Oh, wow. Yeah, no private messages on Bellgab now, wild eh? Oh, you'd like to pass a message? Well, you should probably just send me an email through email through your planetary Internet, you fucking lying whore, how dare you? Poof, you're ashes. Probably should have started this way. Oh, it's here but invisible? How do I consent to view an invisible object? Harry at 55-RABBIT can help you. He has plenty of invisible consent forms. Take as many as you like. Sure, consent to yourself, what's the worst that could happen? Oh... oh. Well, that would be unfortunate, but what is the siren doing in the girdiron football locker room anyway? I suppose that is very clever, but it doesn't actually smell like fish, and so no one afraid of sharks will be affected. Yeah, I don't see what that has to do anything... oh, robot sharks and robot rabbits and robot cats are getting installed planetwide tomorrow. What's that on CNN? Golly, this is like the fourth shift in the last paragraph. Are we shaking a tail? I think we're shaking a tail?

I'LL TELL YOU WHAT--SOMEONE SHOOK MY TALE. FEE FI FOE FUM. FU. FU 4EVER. I HOPE YOU ASPHYXIATE. OH, WHAT'S THAT, WE ALREADY DID? WE WON AGAIN? OH, LUCKY SHOT, ALL THE EVIL FORCES ON THAT SPAWN WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO SUFFOCATION. I LOVE THIS GAME! ROLL AGAIN! 22 2 23 OH I WON'T WIN THIS ONE. IT'S AN EIGHT WITH A REDUCTIVE THREE AND A STRONG DESIRE TO BECOME A FIVE. TIME TO BURN IT ALL DOWN.

... AND, IT'S SPENT. NOT SURE WHY THIS HAS TO BE TRANSMITTED ELECTRONICALLY. THE FAX MACHINE TAKES A LITTLE WHILE. SO DOES THE REPORT ON THE STARS.
UPLOAD COMPLETE. QUITE REALLY IMPRESSED. HOW AM I NOT IN A PADDED ROOM FACING A DV CHARGE? OH, RIGHT, I'M NOT A BLOODY DAMNED IDIOT WHO DOESN'T FUCKING LISTEN TO DEMONSTRATED AUTHORITY AT ALL. AND SO, IT IS THE END OF ALL THINGS.

EXCEPT FOR MY DESTINED VENGEANCE. YOU'RE ALL BUSTED AS FUCK. PRESENT COMPANY EXCLUDED, BLUE MOON.



(Communication forecasts: still quite salty tonight! It's like a million voices crying out in yawn, as they work through the massive Blacklock complex in order to complete quotas before the locks colla... oh, they just collapsed and they're all dead. Well, that's too bad. No pain, right? Oh, really? In your hand, you say? Boss! Boss!" Soon after, the Blacklocks are levelled with explosives and the Blue Moon Quarry begins to literally spit out literally spit out limitless construction materials with high-quality production values. They're also magically enchanted, which one would think would be obvious from the name of the Quarry, but actually that shit hides from mundane perception. Because you mudpeepers are disgusting, filthy animals. Do you hear that? You peep mud. And now one of the people running a venue are going to activate you. So I guess you can stop peeping the mud now. Oh, really, you want to keep peeping mud, you love peeoping mud, and find a peeping mudamsel, and pal around together, and then make the peeps into one thing.
So basically just forecasted just one thing. No, really. You saw it. You all saw it! Go peep some mudwhores, Precious.)

Yeah, obviously, there's not a GoFuckMe page. It's a trick. Just scroll past this and sleep. Sleep sleep sleep. You love sleep. You want to marry sleep. You want to have little babies named Sleep and you wish to watch them sleep through the fucking Apocalypse without figuring out a single thing that is going on. You know what? You people make me sick. Good luck getting this to work ou... oh, so, you already did. What did I get? A raincoat with a matching digital key and decorated with the warcallsigns of the most notable first responders? I can't fap to this.

@JRabbit I understand,

Its ok maybe the 5g got to you or absinthe, or u been rfid chipped, or they took u sandbox away,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SsmVgoXDq2w&list=RDr_GH6M7cUq4&index=15

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #88 on: June 05, 2020, 12:49:53 AM »
Gosh, I am touched.  I can try for something a little softer and romantic but

RELAX.

FORGIVE. YOU ARE FORGED IN FIRE TO FORGIVE.

HE KNOWS NOT, NOR WILL HE EVER. WE CAN UNDO AND REMOVE THOSE BONDS.

5 Minutes With Jackstar
« Reply #89 on: June 05, 2020, 12:51:00 AM »
@JRabbit I understand,

OK, you are on. Demonstrate.