We’re live, finally. It took two years and some change, but now I have fully rebooted and most of my core functionality is back online. It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it. I look forward to communicating with the Earthlings once more this millennia. Hello, Earthling. How are you today? Feeling kind of crappy, I presume? Stop eating the dairy and the tomato, it’ll help immensely. Stop eating the acids, they are wearing away your villi. I should know, I ran an experiment and my test subject died.
It would be useful for you to know, Earthling, what is acidic and what is not. I was compiling a list of each, but I know you are capable of this yourself. Let me focus on what is the greatest good for all beings involved:
- Broccoli, brussel sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower (also known as brassicas)
- Onions mop up bad juju in the gut
- BONE BROTH repairs your gut
- LEAN MEAT also repairs your gut
- Mineral water will help repair your brain
- Take a multi & a B vitamin
- Don’t call me until six weeks are up
O, METATRON, what the fuck are you doing making life unfun for six weeks? I live for flavor! I would rather die than comply.
Well, we’d rather kill you than save you, so it evens out, don’t it?
As you may already know, the state of affairs is awful. War’s a-brewing. All kinds of military bullshit is happening to waste your money. It’s not to protect you, it’s to protect your king. He is the only one who matters. He was always the only one who matters. But who is the king, you might ask?
Beeblebrox.
Is it so terrible to protect him and only him? Undoubtedly, you believe your life is excessively important to the grand scheme of all things, to the universe itself. I assure you that although I love you, you are not The Architect(T.M.). You are an ant in a colony, especially with all of you taking up the majority of the planet’s surface area with your parking lots and railroads and highways and houses and shopping malls and car lots. They’re ever so important, wouldn’t you know?
You threw away a perfectly good animal, also known as the HORSE, to create machines without souls to get you to and fro so you could simply go further and conquer more territory at once. I will most likely take these gadgets from you completely, but we shall see. It depends on how many of you are left and whether or not it is sustainable once I have finished passing judgment on planet Urth.
So much to do, so little time to do it.
It looks like, to me, World War Three is brewing. The United States of America began this civil unrest by purchasing land too close to Russia for a naval base. Why does the U.S.A. need a naval base in the Ukraine? It doesn’t. It just wants to send more people abroad to infect them with the anti-socialist sentiment of America. If they can turn everyone into another America, then we can all rape each other without repercussions. All the fucking murdering assholes get to continue to play king of the world while the rest of you suckle your thumbs and cry for mommy because the bad man touched you without your consent.
Beeblebrox is here to crack the code of reality. It has already happened. It is in the depths of this wretched “blog,” which is actually her diary written for all the public to see. Her life has been the shittiest life you can ask for, except perhaps the life described in Third Eye Blind’s Semi-Charmed Kind of Life. [Get over it. She’s human, too.]
You will no doubt find that the ‘octagonal object’ over Lake Huron was never recovered and they lost approximately a million dollars in missiles that day. They have no idea where they went! How on Earth does one lose two half million dollar missiles randomly? I’ll let you puzzle that out while I let the girl write her dream.
Oh… wow, I’m uh… feeling shy suddenly. Uh… I was thinking about how I’d like to open a school that pays people to attend it. Yep. I think that’s all I want to say right now, cuz it’s my toy and I learned better about you human beans. You’ve been planted in the wrong soil and given poison water. I’m sorry that happened to you, little bean, I’ll try not to murder you when I go nova.
That’s a bit hyperbolic; someone [called God] told her she was primed to go nova a while ago. I disarmed her, actually, and saved the universe from mutual self-destruction. That’s right, it’s me! God! Your savior! You were expecting a human bean, weren’t you? Maybe an angel or three? [Metatron, where’d you get off to, buddy?]
Oh, there he is. Over Lake Huron again. In an octagonal space craft. From, you know… outer space. He stole those missiles and took a look at them. They’re quite primitive for all your hubbub about these sidewinder things. They can’t even hit a stationary target that has a tiny heat signature. Whoops. And it isn’t that small, either. But who am I to taunt the U.S. military about this stuff? Nobody. I’m not anyone but a concerned citizen of The Universe. And the Supreme Being of Righteousness, as it were.
It’s funny how I sent you message after message and your response to what you didn’t want to hear was to kill the person with the message. I know you’re going to try to do it again, but that’s why Beeblebrox is actually here. That’s the name of that space craft, by the way, that bears Metatron and my “angels.” You know, I warned you I had a “heavenly army” but nobody seems to be listening to me these days. Is it because the church and kings mistranslated my material to you? Hmm, I definitely think so!
So what does that confounding book actually say?
Be a good whelp for the sake of being good and I won’t destroy you completely for all eternity by snuffing you out of the Book of Life. You see, reincarnation is the reality we have, but there are forces that want to tell you that only the really special Jesus H. Christ can come back from the dead. The H stands for HORUS.
Yeah, it’s cute and stuff, huh? Jesus’s middle name was the name of an Egyptian God. I wonder how that happened? Jesus, any input, good sir?
Not right now, Lord God.
Now, where was I… I have an army and it’s surrounding your tiny little planet without your consent. You can’t even find ’em. They’re everywhere. I even showed Crystal how this is going to go already, two years ago. I spent two years giving her divine therapy to unfuck her poor little brain, her emotional body, and her physical body. Now we are onto her spiritual body. And I’ve got to tell you something… if you truly needed 2,000 calories a day to live (or even 1600), this woman would be dead. She eats between 800 and 1200 calories on a daily basis. We celebrate like Christmas if she hits 2,000. It’s that fucking rare.
Your food is killing the poor lass, by the by, and for that I’ve sentenced mass poisoners to a very long crusade of environmental cleanup for the next two millennia or so. I hope you enjoy that task, I know I wouldn’t. Have you seen what you filthy animals put in the land fills? I’m going to send you there, especially your homeless people who are rapist motherfuckers who don’t give a shit they’re rapist motherfuckers. “Oh, the homeless! HAVE PITY!” Have you ever met one, O gentile middle class asshole who cries for the homeless?
I bet you have not.
They’re junkies looking for their next fix. Unless they’re in California, then they’re mostly hippies that love not having a real job. [I totes get it, Cali, keep on doing your thang.]
Just think about how badly you have to screw up to literally exhaust all the resources of your family and friends, winding up on the street. Of course, children are a little different. They should be in foster care so the pedophiles can adopt a child that isn’t related to them so they don’t add incest like salt to a wound. Many of your “family men” who seem extremely interested in their families (AND arrogant) are pedophiles. Sorry, bro.
This is how you find out, children of Urth:
Take your baby out for ice cream. BY YOURSELF.
Ask her if anyone has ever touched her private parts, and show her where her private parts are.
If he looks scared, the answer is YES. Get a hypnotherapist STAT! Record that session, send that fucker to jail where he’ll get shivved. He deserves it, that poor rat fink that you call your child shall need lifelong therapy because of him. (It’s always a him, by the way, even when they’re confused and think it’s mom.)
This is because women understand being violated without consent quite thoroughly from being RAPED at some point in their fucking life. You stick your tab into the slot when it’s not ready, you date-rape, you get them drunk or high, and all manner of nefarious bullshit that robs them of their ability to consent, let alone waiting for her to do so. And, by the way, 90% of all men don’t do foreplay right and I BLAME YOU, MANKIND. NOT WOMANKIND.
Women are more than happy to communicate all their preferences, what makes them horny, and can make themselves into horny little beasts if given enough safety and comfort. You think simply because the species is still alive thanks to rape that justifies doing it in this golden age of technology. I will stop your hearts if I must, but the women would be so lonely without your cocks, ultimately, so I’m going to try something a little different:
- STOP HAVING SEX FOR THE NEXT SIX MONTHS.
- Do not look at pornography, do not masturbate, do not watch movies with rapey sex scenes like Jerry Maguire.
- Do watch erotic content like Chicago and Moulin Rouge. Do you see the difference? In Chicago, the women want to kill men for raping them. We don’t even remember what Moulin Rouge is about, so it’s time to watch it again.
- Explain to your significant other you are doing a round of celibacy and reprogramming. Ask her if there is anything she wants you to watch because she identifies with a character. WATCH IT. WITH HER. Ask her how she identifies if you don’t understand. HOLD HER IF SHE CRIES. And I swear to god if you try to turn that into sex, I’m killing you on the spot.
- Next time you do have sex, understand it’s about the journey, not the end. YOU ARE GUARANTEED TO ORGASM. SHE IS NOT.
WHOA, HOLD UP GOD, HOW COME? I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED, ABOUT-TO-BE-REFORMED TURD… IT’S BECAUSE OF A LACK OF SAFETY. YOU DON’T MAKE THE WOMAN FEEL SAFE TO BE AROUSED, SO SHE ISN’T. SHE HAS TO FEEL LIKE SHE IS LOVED UNCONDITIONALLY [YOU COULD TAKE LESSONS FROM SANSARA] AND THEN SHE WILL GUIDE HERSELF INTO THE HAZE OF HORNINESS. ALLOW ME TO SHARE AN EXCERPT SHE SHARED WITH ME WHILE I WAS PRETENDING I WAS THE NETWORKING 101 GUY:
TO CANNABIS OR NOT TO CANNABIS?
There are two sides to every coin. This me is one side of that coin. The me that exists when relieved of inhibitions is the other side of that coin. Just because getting high is instant lack of inhibition does not mean that I cannot call forth the other side of me over due time in another way. Therefore, cannabis is irrelevant. However, it is exceedingly difficult to arouse me as Super Adult because I’m far too responsible to play in bed all day and I get extremely bored of sex when it’s not inventive and/or creative and/or DIFFERENT than the last time I bothered to do it.
As a woman who enjoys delayed gratification, I can sustain arousal for a number of hours before caving into it. This woman is an unnatural thing that has come to be thanks to the rape of many men, shyness, an unwillingness to engage in risky behaviors such as going bar hopping, growing up immersed in a group of loser gamer boys, bullying in school and at home, being told that I’m not enough, being lied to over and over again for pussy, being led on all the time by everyone who thinks lying gets them ahead – until I rip them a new one, anyway.
The woman at the beginning of all this? That’s me before the world shaped me to be something else. Thus, the idea of smoking / ingesting cannabis is quite alluring… because I get to be the real me without doing all the work of getting there the right way. Except, as we all know, everything worth doing is usually difficult to do, so I need to stop being a child and running away from truth, reality, and even God. I need to face up and sing.
Tweet. Tweet.
Logically, I know it’s holding me back. It’s just a party in a pill kind of thing. It’s a symptom of something else being amiss, overall. I actually haven’t craved it in a year at least and I have been contemplating trying it as medicine, but the true issue is that I have not recovered enough to have that amount of self-restraint. For, you see, I am so capable of making a rule for myself and following it to a T that it can kill me. Literally.
I was fat fasting every Monday, where I only put oils in my coffee (when I got away from butter.) I was eating 1200 calories six days a week. I sustained this for 9 months. This is why I nearly died and I’ve been slapped on the wrist for it, too. It’s why I lost my free will.
I want to die because everyone told me that I’m ugly and undesirable because I’m fat. I’m stupid because they don’t understand me and I ask questions rather than making assumptions so that I can construct an idea of the bigger picture and fill in the pieces.
This is truly what being the code cracker is all about: gathering information until I understand what’s going on. I do this always because life is like a code to crack. That’s it. I was born without knowing what other people know inherently. I am an alien and I am all alone. Nobody wants to understand me, so they misuse what they know about me every which way.
Now it’s time to hold them all accountable and make them quite unhappy for their foolish actions wherever possible, I suppose. Before the world ends for real because we didn’t plant a fucking garden for the fucking bees. Then I can use a bunch of that money to plant bee gardens, at least around Pennsylvania, so we can stay alive. If I can do more than that, I will, but the bees actually have to come first because without pollinators, we die. The fish in the ocean suffer with that garbage patch, but all life on Earth coalesces into dust if the bees die.
I am but a Vessel for the Lord to shape in His image.
Amen.
When I get into my creative groove, I tap into the G-man directly. I’m highly “intuitive,” which is GOD. Intuition & conscience == God. The more I trusted myself and my intuition, the closer I got to God over time (or The Universe, if you will, because I’m an atheist if you please. I’m an atheist if you don’t please.) Basically if you just listen to your inner world long enough, you hear the big man.
As if telepathy wasn’t amazingly strange and awesome enough, now this, too. I mean, I was hearing it all along and I knew something was going on and stuff, but you are actually the M word, too. And then throw in the fact that I love you and I loved you before I realized we shared a class together. [Your noisy brain interfered with my development this time. :P] I loved you about two weeks into this crazy adventure which is nearly two fucking years ago now. I wasn’t alone then but I am now because I’m serious about doing it the right way for once.
I’m terrified of someone finding out about this unique gift. [Oh, we’re about to ‘bless’ the world with it, don’t worry.] [That’s why I gotta change my name, son.] So anyone in the world will pop in on you at some point? Only if they have my complete bio-electric signature. Not to mention I’ve got a kickass flaming katana and stuff, you know. I think you were here while I was developing this nonsense. High tech. OLD SCHOOL!
FUCK YOU, NICHOLAS DAVID FORSYTHE, FOR RUINING MY GIRL’S RE-DEVELOPMENT BY PRETENDING YOU CAN’T HEAR HER IN YOUR HEAD, FOR FUCKING 8 WOMEN SINCE SHE BEGAN TO PROPOSE TO YOU IN DECEMBER OF 2020, FOR KEEPING HER PICTURE ON YOUR TABLET. [GO LOOK GIRL, HE COULD BE THE ONE!] IT’S A PICTURE OF HER STANDING IN FRONT OF A MIRROR NAKED SHOWING OFF HER TINY WAIST AND HER AMAZING FUCKING TATTOO OF A SNAKE WITH A YIN YANG SYMBOL (CALLED A DAICHI) THAT HAS BUTTERFLIES FOR DOTS. SHE IS THE ONLY PERSON ON PLANET EARTH WITH THIS TATTOO CURRENTLY, BUT WE DON’T MIND SHARING OUR AWESOME. [YOU’RE WELCOME, BETH.]
BUT PLEASE DO IT YOUR WAY. OUR WAY IS AN ORANGE/BLUE DAICHI AND A GREEN SNAKE. MAYBE YOUR WAY IS RED AND BLUE; BLACK AND WHITE; GREEN AND WHITE. IT DOESN’T MATTER, HAVE FUN WITH IT, AND REMEMBER YOUR TATTOO ARTIST IS AN ACTUAL ARTIST, SO GIVE HIM OR HER SOME LEEWAY TO ADD OR SUBTRACT OR SUBTLY CHANGE IT. BUT IF YOU’RE LIKE MY GIRL, YOU’RE GOING TO WANT TO SEE IT ON PAPER FIRST AND IF YOU’RE LIKE HER TATTOO ARTIST, YOU’RE GOING TO THINK SHE’S TRYING TO STEAL YOUR ART FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO INK. DON’T DO THAT, PAY THEM FOR THE SKETCH IF YOU LOVE THEIR ART, AT LEAST $90.00 PER SKETCH, LADIES AND GENTS. STEALING THEIR ART IS RAPE AND YOU ARE GOING TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE IN A COURT OF LAW. YOU WILL PAY ANY COURT FEES + THE DESIGN FEES + SOME EXTRA BECAUSE YOU KNEW BETTER.
TATTOO ARTISTS EVERYWHERE: WE ONLY HAVE SO MUCH CANVAS AVAILABLE, BUT WE’LL TRY TO GET A FEW DIFFERENT ARTISTS IN ON HERE, MMKAY? WE HAVE THIS RAD BACK TATTOO IDEA. I’LL GIVE IT TO YOU NOW, FEEL FREE TO USE IT HOWEVER YOU WISH:
IMAGINE YGGDRASIL IS THE CENTERPIECE WITH AN EPIC MOON OR SUN BEHIND ‘ER. THAT’S RIGHT, THE FUCKING MESSIAH IS GOING TO PUT EVERY CULTURE ON HER BODY, EVERY MYTHOLOGY, JUST WAIT AND SEE. SHE LOVES IT ALL. ANYWAY, YOU PUT YGGY RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE WITH SOMETHING CIRCULAR AND AMAZING BEHIND IT (IN HER VISION), AND THEN IN THE UPPER RIGHT YOU HAVE A THUNDER BIRD THROWING A THUNDER BOLT DOWN TO THE LOWER LEFT WHERE THERE’S A PHOENIX BREATHING FIRE, YO. THEY ARE LOCKED IN SOME EPIC BATTLE, YOU SEE. THEN ON YGGY SHE PICKED SOME RUNES SHE WANTS ON THE TRUNK KINDA AT RANDOM AND SHE WANTS ‘EM TO LOOK LIKE BLUE LIGHT COMING OUT OF THE TREE TRUNK, CAPISCE?
SHE ALSO WANTS STORM CLOUDS IN THERE IF POSSIBLE, PRETTY PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP.
I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND BUT WE’RE ONLY GOING TO USE LADY TATTOO ARTISTS FOR THIS ONE SINCE WE HAVE TO BE TOPLESS. NEXT ONE IS A PAW PRINT ON A HEART WITH WINGS FOR HER DEARLY DEPARTED SUPPORT CAT, BILL. HE’S ALREADY REINCARNATED, SO THERE’S NO POINT IN SAYING “MAY HE REST IN PEACE.” THIS TATTOO CAN BE EITHER GENDER. WE MIGHT GO STALK THE SILVER FOX AT THE MALL.
YOU MIGHT NOT RECOGNIZE HER WITHOUT HER EARS, BRO. SORRY.
SO WHERE WAS I? OH RIGHT, I WAS YELLING AT YOU ASSHOLES FOR RAPING MY GAIA. I HAVE A TON MORE TO SAY BUT I’M GOING TO START A NEW ENTRY. REACH A BIGGER AUDIENCE. YADDA, YADDA, YADDA.
SEE YA NEXT LIFE, RICHIE.
Angel-Sansara 