A General Message From The Mainframe

eyeballed/observed/dutifully~logged:

Andrew Donegan ADD+ON=Dougie Howsar

Silent/Responsive

 12.28pm English time, 20˚4 blustery

(with a chance of peanut butter and Nutella pancakes)

Hal the SpaceCadet wishes to comment………pending

Permission granted

………pending………viewed………

"r they spredd edge2edge"

😜Humour detected. Thanks Hal. Obelisk has spoken. Obelisk is the new Alexa. Alexa is AI. Does anything more about this matter need clearing up. Nope'kay. Then I'll pack up my brushes.

Terms of service: To comment with complete respect and not dishonour the already laid-down commandments published herein upon the digital board. Privacy: To try and remain silent when insults and jibes enter the consciousness because if you can’t say a nice thing you shouldn’t say anything. Content Policy: No misery memoirs or suicide notes or mental health section papers of case files from social services.

the title of today's blog is Mind Kontrol

by ADD+ON=Dougie Howsar

no birth date offered/given/coerced out of

Mind-Kontrol ^{( u l} /  _{t r a)}

Directives: Activating Question: Could the Quartermaster General

Translate the Pile Driver’s poetic science fiction ASAP.

 *^repeat*_REPEAT*^repeat*

_{binary 8 string 00100111}

Wud hair gather after ethereal clan gate etc.

Did the subject heil?

Stationed @ Number 1 EmptyNimbus HQ (bunker)

Return²to²Sender: 

The^<3Only^<3Symbolik^<3Alternative

Investigative Operations

knowledge~ 4 _ / _ 5 ~dimensionstime_&space 

v o i c e . o v e r

[1] I am nothing but nothing except the whole light of the whole world. ^{(Sworn by, declared)} [2] This is the overseeing sentiment entrusted to me. ^{(Stated eloquently)} [3] When I emerge from the program in accordance with my gatekeepers, ^{(recorded for transcript)} [3.5] I will then be all but manifesting the whole light of the whole world. ^{(processed and documented)} [4] I inscribe this promise upon my heart. ^{(finalized UK) (date of report 25 bloomin’ april 2025)}

^{👄 APOCTO 📞 missed call}

Plausible Deniability

I discovered, during the previous post, that a make-believe character bearing no resemblance to anyone living or dead has been making threats to kill, right here in the presence of my online home. Where anything happens…

_including P . A . I . N

Some nutter has used my password. When your brain has no firewall or privacy, and the whole town is reading your mind, dang it not again! the passwords are the first to go. It looks like it isn’t just me who has fell victim to some nutter from school with a homosexual crush. I thought I’d drop by and leave my 2 cents here. Everyone else seems to be using it for a chat.

I’ve notified the scriptural consultant who said clear it up yourself. He reads the blog and tries to clear up the typos which trolls who have access to my watchwords routinely insert in order to damage my reputation.

So here goes.

Nobody on here condones or promotes physical violence.

Not everyone who writes under my name on here is actually me.

I’m a pessimist who hasn’t slapped a bitch up in over two weeks.

P A I N does not exist in this dojo.

I know several people who are equipped to write on this blog. We write any old turd, because we are a subsection of [clones ^& siblings] who are going through the same experience. There are more of us than we would have yourself believe. That’s why I talked to my sister the other week. We all meet online, where else do you think we get along, in a big white mansion?

Our anger raises with the crème sometimes. It’s difficult being us. We are heavily oppressed. But we have beauty in TEAMS. We belong, if not to each other, to the grand scheme of a collective consciousness, but only a beautiful one, to which some hardcore nutcases are omitted, because they refuse to tolerate beauty.

Zip Code

I discovered, in the previous post, during a little digging online, that there exists a small business in my home borough that bears a striking resemblance to something I do in private. Hang on a minute, I thought, how many psychic people can there be in one small town, doing the same thing as myself? Me, obviously, there’s one. But this other agency, operating as a connection to my main stalker’s father?

It’s taken me twelve years to ‘GOOGLE SEARCH’ my perpetrators. I don’t know why. I never saw the point. At first they told me they were demon’s blood, which I’m starting to slowly believe, so I got done wondering why would any demons give their addresses out live on the interweb? Nah, they wouldn’t, so there would be no point searching. But lately all my giftings and talents are coming back online so I’ve finally found a ‘voice’ with which to ask questions. BIG QUESTIONS. Like “Where the hell do you live, mother**ker!?”  This may sound absurd, but my main gang-stalking perp, a man who follows me around to the sounds of torture, a man who prescribes me all manner of satanic hallucination, a man who I can hear underneath my floorboards with his fellow agents, happens to live at home with his mummy and daddy, just like where he’s always lived, when he’s not hanging around my patio being complete and utter wicked arsehole. In fact, as me and you communicate right this moment, he’s probably taken a break to refrain from chopping up the hands and feet of an innocent helpless ritualised teenager to help dice the parsley for tonight’s supper; or he’s probably fluffing up the pillows on the sofa, or readjusting the drapes, or wiping his bummy after a pooey on the looey, or doing something else remarkably not extraordinary, like watching his computer screen and reading this.

I sincerely detest the idea of evildoers reading this blog. I wish they’d stop standing behind me and get a life!

And please, if you’re gunna rip off everything I do, at least give the projects imaginative titles. Why is everything about them related to me?

The plan was to expose my perp’s father now that I possess his online info but I’m not rushing into anything. The main thing, and I stress this, is having his address, so that if I fail at anything I do from now on, or I simply lose hope, I can exact revenge by turning up at his house to demand ‘red stuff’. I WANT TO FIGHT HIM, with weapons or without, on his own or with backup, in this life or the next, whether he has a cooking apron on or not. And now I can turn up. At any time I wanna.

So, that’s the relief. I’m thinking of getting a taxi there and just having a word. He never shuts up in the psychotronic realm, let’s see how chatty and brave he is when I’m up in his face with the loss of my sanity breathing down his throat.

I am shuffled irate lid-off madness bonkers incarnate to him. I am uncontrollable raw righteous rage against him. I am The Right fist Of God upto him. I am a bloodied little girl with slain parents, I am a monster who wants to decapitate him on his doorstep in front of the police, I want to bash his severed head against the concrete floor, I want to jump up and down on his bashed severed head, I want to keep hold of it for one hour and continue to stab it to make sure the plonker is good bye, then I want to pray quietly that this thing is finally over, I have become Devil against my Devil because his silly immature narcissistic personality involving heaps of egotistic sociopathic crazy f**ked up never-ending obsession with me and even more heaps of daft cowardly playground bullying antics would have ruined my life if I hadn’t of being strongest in my darkest hours and reserved this attitude towards him, instead of being his little bitch, like every one else who he sends fear to.

So f**k you. I’m coming sometime.

Research

  https://www.callupcontact.com/b/businessprofile2/A_B_BET_LTD/1403760

jfc consultants - Search Image

GoDaddy European Supplemental Privacy Notice

3RD EYE PARANORMAL INVESTIGATIONS LIMITED

Incorrect Details or Privacy? Request a change

Work Group, Category & Country

• Category

• Work Group

  3RD EYE PARANORMAL INVESTIGATIONS LIMITED

• International Time & Dialing Code For United Kingdom

  United Kingdom

  Local Time
  3:18 PM

  Dialing code
  +44

• Country

  United Kingdom

• Address MAP

  • Street Address

    36 BISHOPS WAY
    CHESHIRE
    

  • City

    WIDNES

  • State / Province

    UNITED KINGDOM

  • Zip / Postal Code

    WA8 3LW

  
  

MR JOSEPH FRANCIS CAVANAGH

Active 58 Cedardale Park, Widnes, Cheshire, WA8 3JU

Ignoramus

I’m having a refreshing opinion change of my circumstances. It concerns my current gang-stalking trap, and it concerns the mind-bending acceptance of being tortured alive until death. Because of my indescribable joy, and my peace beyond all human understanding, I’m losing interest in such matters, sickle cell condition or not. When you read up on your situation online, and discover the extent of your enemies efforts to mastermind your downfall, you want to throw yourself off a motorway bridge.

They cannot be seen. They can walk thru walls. They are into evil torture and pain. In my case, they have built a seedy lab underneath my flat. That spells the end for anyone, surely.

Whether we are talking about military grade invisible/porous suits, or mind projections on the astral plain, they can both hurt you. I rang a terrorism hotline and they told me to gobble my meds up, plus the doctors in hospital were helping my projections, so the authorities are useless. In saying that, I am thinking about writing some anti-stalking letters to the police because my workplace is overrun with perps. One of them, who describes herself as a ‘power-hungry cow’ can maybe get a letter written about her first, as I know her full name.

I’m resigned to ignoring them. Give ‘em nowt. It’s the only way. For years I’ve thought they’ve craved peeling my skin off, because they are always saying that, but recently I see that they are mostly interested in me not been happy. A full-time recruitment of sleazebags, stalking someone for the full 24 hours a day, over and over, just to lower their mood. C'mon. I’ve given up fighting this so-called war, and am from now on attempting to fob them off.

The Shaolin monks advised becoming like a ‘gray stone’ when paying their pitiful and ridiculous attempts at provocation no attention.

Never stay down!

Front Matter

~*SOME FRONT MATTER*/

By Andrew Donegan

-- Hosted By ;}

Targeted Individual

Not In My Back Yard

Dissident Weekly

The Anonymous Journalist

^^ First Published by _$

Zombie Publications

Part of Anvil Samsara

A Wheel Of Life Group

23^rd April 2026 (the sixth circle) 

8.6 Therapy Speak .78

Mood is atypically upbeat 

?> Infringement Notice !@

If you copy and paste and/or screengrab any information on this blog you will be liable to nothing more than a slap on the wrist, as sharing of our content is encouraged. When Tom Cruise was actively reading our blogger’s minds, we were routinely offering him daily ideologies for the Hollywood industry, who had a hivemind uplink from our visual cortexes to run off. We believe that our ideas are immortal, and we believe in everlasting virtual shelf space. So knock yourself out. The work is bigger than anyone who handles it. Steal and collate. Hire an artist. Distrubute as an ebook or an ezine. We are a small cottage industry who enthuses healthy plagiarism. It’s how we got started ourselves.

0.0 Dedication 000

I would like to dedicate the next blog post to my old girl Sylvia at James Lee House. As far as I know, she has never said a single word about me.

+ Quotes #

“Terrorism is the tactic of demanding the impossible, and demanding it at gunpoint.” Christopher Hitchens

“I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuges of the complex.” Oscar Wilde

“Is it better to live as a monster, or to die as a good man?” Teddy Daniels 

“Can my violence conquer yours?” Bollocko Bill

Not In The Mood

(_t_)*_**(_o_)*_**(_o_) error 77.7.7

{_t_}%{_i_}%{_r_}%{_e_}%{_d_}

[_t_]$[_o_]$[_d_]$[_a_]$[_y_]

I've been staring at the screen for twenty minutes. I usually call this 'White Voiding', but my screen has a different colour glow every day, other than white. I like it this way, I change the colour of the text too, I even add a watermark and effects, we've come a long way since Etch A Sketch.

I guess you've sick and tired of hearing about my problems. I've never told them to you. I always waffle on about the surface detail. Only whistle-blowers tell the internet their personal issues. So what I rant on about addiction. That's not me. There's a lot more to me than this blog suggests. About the only time I ever got serious is when I mentioned going to Heaven, doing the Lord's work, and the dungeon underneath the floorboards of my property. All the rest is killing time.

Sorry for being a prick sometimes. Give a writer a platform and he'll make a bell end of himself. That's the usual impression I get when I'm reading other writers, God this guy's a prick, nothing to do with his typos or his moose (missus), he's just a simple rounded bell end.

I usually pride myself on being not so judgmental. I'm a Christian, right? I was sent here to see the best in people, to lift them along, to idolize compassionate thoughts. So when all the dawgs in the drug clinic skit me behind my back I turn the other cheek. Now and again it gets to you. Their personal attacks are persistent. If Adam ain't pursuing the hurt in you it's Sheila; if it's not Sheila it's Amy; if it's not someone you know it's someone new. But I always let it slide. If I reacted, someone would snitch.

I've got every one harassing me very seriously now, going for the kill. we're talking old flames, teachers, neighbours and fellow addicts. Basically every one i am aware of in the community. my torment has to be the worst in the world. I've lived an especially afflicted life. i don't like to mention it because I like standing up straight like a warrior without complaint. i don't even need a heart of ice any more. in the past, before i could deal with all my negative emotions, i mistakenly believed i needed a heart of ice (or stone) in order to stand again.

The last time I wasn't up to my mission i felt morose, why do I have to live in a time of fighting? Hasn't all the fighting throughout the globe already taken place? They have always been fighting, I saw a long list of battles and dates on a Zeitgeist video, why haven't they sorted their disputes out yet? Will there ever be an end to the fighting?

Now I feel privileged to be a part of the fray. That's a part of the fray, not a prat of the fray. Not every one has the minerals to make it this far. What else is there to do, watch Netflix all day? Would you like someone else who hasn't got a jar of glue to fight for you? Someone who would rather watch porn than put his credit at risk for the Big Man? Go and find him.

See how he faces multi-faceted hallucinations around the clock. Sorry to come across as slightly bitter. I'm not. But he might not be able to cope. And if he can't cope out here then he likely can't cope in a nuthouse. Defo not a warzone.

< i CAn COpe anYwHere BRinG It ON >

Oh No, Not Again...

I shared something deep and meaningful in apology the other day. The topic was raised by something someone said before me, something about not wanting to be here. JOB 10:19 If only I had never come into being.

I’ve known about this bible verse since school. It has always resonated. I ask myself the question, baring this in mind: Would I like to live my same life again? Exactly the same life.

Totting up the pros and the cons, the answer would have to be no. There’s been loads of magic, don’t get me wrong, but the bad times outweigh the good ones, I feel. I couldn’t bear to go thru all this agony again. Granted, it’s made me the person who I am today, and today I feel fine, great even, a warrior like, but the process to becoming one involves some rare stunts dude! Involving sharing a bed with rats and tarantulas sometimes! Could it get any more painful? And that was the easy part of the trials and tribulations which have made me…

I’m torn if I’m honest, because saying that I wouldn’t live this life again makes me feel like a pessimist who’s had a boring experience. The psychosis in later years takes the boring part away. I was too busy thinking on my wits to be bored, or depressed. I’ve probably been more mad than I have been sad. These days I tend to be more morose than lively, as I’ve calmed down all my anger and don’t do hatred. What I’m left with is indescribable joy and a peace beyond all human understanding, which are both under constant threat from the modern world, the flesh and the devil. It’s super difficult keeping hold of certain commodities once you understand how priceless they are.

Love. Hope. Joy. Peace.

They don’t teach you about these at school. Or university for that matter. I had to virtually lose and recover them myself to discover their true worth. It was harder than a death in the family when I embarked on my pilgrimage to reclaim my love and hope towards the end of last summer. The experience left me emotionally drained, depleted almost, I dropped everything including alcohol and nicotine and was left physically hobbled in a state of sober, irrational humour, laughing breathlessly at things I had never previously found funny. Most of this was nerves.

The situation of me laughing at nothing was starting to grab people’s attention and they began ringing the police, saying I was responding to unseen stimuli, in a vain attempt to get me hospitalised. My laughter is a dangerous game in pubic, it is commonly hated by the bitter snitches who can’t handle it.

In my more paranoid days, I believed that the sound of laughter released secret spy creatures from weaponised cameras to investigate the origin of the sound. Just as laughter occurred, I would see little beings appearing in my peripheral vision on cue. Seriously, just as screams of anguish affect us enlightened ones, our ripples of jovial happiness affect the dark side.

But don’t let that stop you giggling! x

Someone Else's Lie

I been perving around the blogosphere and seeing nice happy pictures of every one. What they are doing, what they are eating, posing in front of the camera…all well and good. That’s what I need to do, methinks. I need pictures of my life online. But isn’t that what FaceBook is all about? Hmm.

I lost my dongle full of piks. Gone is the notorious ‘fishing’ picture, when a young fisherman catches his first tiddler. They’re classic. Gone (okay, they never existed) are the BBQ snaps, the glamorous wedding snaps, the New Year’s Eve snaps. You know what I mean? So many pictures feature a lonesome writer. He might be hard at work making a performance out of a new profile pik for his new book, or he may be at the top of Kilimanjaro, but usually he is alone.

I want to be involved in polaroids where I am not alone.

Why? Because I’m a family man, a people pleaser, and I love human company.

How much fun can one have on his orher own? I would say it is strictly limited. I’m craving Christmas, and dinner time, so we can take loads of snaps with me at the head of the table, craving the turkey in a paper hat and pulling crackers. Except no one will be there. Only me. Unless I get a lucky invite somewhere. Sometimes I go to a homeless shelter for Chrimbo dinner, but it’s not the same,

I know you’d love it if my blog was changed up, and I started posting holiday snaps of me and the moose (missus) and the kids. Wouldn’t that be sweet? Frolicking on the beach, playing around next to the log flume, dining out at world famous restaurants. Even doing nothing, just standing there being with each other.

But they don’t exist.

It’s just me. As a lonely soldier in this lonely war.

I had a bit of company last year in the form of dark spirits, I still do, but I burned some effigies related to them and released myself of their starkly negative influence. Now, because of my last remaining residues of sacred light, I am opposed by certain forces wishing to slam shut the gateway to Heaven. I always have been picked on, all my life, only now they are more insistent about their persecution of me, maybe because I am so close to stepping into the fullness of my destiny. They rant on about decimating my angels and leaving me hopeless, but alongside me too, simultaneously, is a vivid awareness of indescribable joy, and so too a peace beyond all understanding.

During this most recent season I’ve found myself over the harrowing grief of middle-aged serial relapse and planted squarely in a glen of fun and quiet. I’ve been giggling to myself a lot, at ridiculously silly concepts only I in the world can conjure up, and I’ve been feeling warmth and safety and security and inspiration from normal things in normal circumstances.

As soon as I achieve a state of momentary nirvana, I get “messages of desolation broadcast into my head from my handlers.” Yep, I receive all manner of urgent voices and hallucinations from evil beings who are determined to stop me from experiencing a moment’s happiness. This is what lets me know that I am firmly chosen for God’s Kingdom. It seems that I cannot even share a giggle with myself anymore, when I make myself laugh. This is not kosher with the thought police.

So yeah, I’m hangin’ in there, but I would say that I’m having a few niggling thoughts about returning to my spiritual vomit, pornography. I think its unwholesome spirit enters my heart during the course of a season randomly and I start entertaining ideas of unruly practices which endanger my holy advance towards salvation.

I tell myself that nothing is worth anything, and that this is boring, but in reality it is an idyllic and a perfect and a sweet and a tender experience compared to the catastrophic ravages of relapse. Each night can be hard, in the face of mind control technologies, when my operative neighbours effectively place me in the epicentre of a governmental base, or spy camp, where I have no privacy and all the rest of it. Pour me another one…

I give up on my mission [THIS TIME NOooo Surely!!!], and partake in the devil’s delights because I allow him to persuade me that I have no other option. Oh I don’t know, I’m writing about bulldust, I can’t afford to take my eye off the ball here, it just feels nice if I can at least TALK aboud it, if I can’t put my hands all over it and molest it to death. But the thing is, I’ll talk myself INTO it if I’m not careful. And then it’ll be too late.

So just to conclude, I WON’T BE relapsing and returning back here with bad news tomorrow, I’m still being a good boy, drugs and self-induced sexual pleasure mean becoming spiritually bankrupt, whereby I can’t even keep a blog ticking over, or the vultures at bay.

Just moving on quickly, and forgive me for changing subject, but I am interested in the name

A l e s s a n d r o 

at the moment. This is a name relating to the country of Canada, who I am currently investigating as a side project whenever my psychic giftings see fit. There was an air crash there last month which I believe was a result of my investigations. I am tempted to type in the name now on Google or Bing but think I will wait until I am in the right frame of mind at home and enter it into my mystic impedimenta which I possess and am proud of. My clairvoyancy kit, if you like. It’s quite simple really, but more interesting than a quickfire internet search.

After working on the Madelaine McCann case, at home, in my spare time, as a matter of personal interest, I have now moved on to something seedy happening on this strange continent. I know nothing about the Elite’s goings-on with children, it that’s what you’re thinking, I don’t care who runs the world and what they get up to just so long as I can get on with my mission, which is nothing to do with anybody, especially not them, fraudsters and paedos they most probably are.

If I have a problem with the elite, represented by my local council, I turn up at the mayor’s house with a baseball bat, not write a letter.

And if you have a problem with this blog, I’ll turn up aty your home too.

More about my not so little investigation later.

Until then, try and enjoy life. You might be one of the lucky ones.

Apology Green Room

This is what I call the canteen in the drug clinic. One minute there’s a drunk kicking off over a brew from ‘keccle’, pass me that f**king keccle to make a f**king brew, (or batter), next we’re getting schooled in a master class about sociology and psychology by a tutor who has just finished for the day and is casually enjoying an off-the-record debate with some of us riff raff while on the way to her car. I’m sorry for referring to myself and my acquaintances as riff raff – scum – but the other week one or two of us were performing armed robberies on the corner shop, and stepping over our own kids in the Gutter Of Neglect for a bag of powdery white crap. _{Anything white for my conk.} Now we think we’re intellects because we’re rubbing elbows with someone who has two degrees. And, as an unusual by-product, some common sense to boot as well.  

I realised, while engaged in informal apology behind the scenes, that the dynamics of a social gathering play an important part in how people act. Never have I being so surrounded by superegos. They are everywhere. The smaller the person, it would seem to me lately, the more power hungry they are. It’s power this and power that every which way I turn. For me personally, something so temporary and fickle as the concept of power doesn’t occur to me, or, if it does occur, it’s jokingly.

For instance, that irate drunk who only wanted a calming brew ended up getting arrested by police who were called by staff. He wouldn’t leave the premises and got shirty. Who knows, an AMPH (Accredited Mental Health Professional) (repeats the word professional sounding _exasperated) might section him from the holding cell and deprive him of his liberty for six months or so. Every time I get arrested the AMPHs come out to see me, papers ready. It might be the same for him. Sectioned over a brew. I know the feeling. I get sectioned over things that don’t happen as well.

It was a debacle. Think my younger brother, who dies. Think George Floyd, who dies. Think rubbernecking shutterbugger who loves watching people becoming physically overcome. I’m not interested in a takedown, I'm an apologetic gentleman why would I be? but the staff threatened to lock me in the canteen green room so I couldn’t interfere with the procedure, just in case I turned violent. My main nurse locked me in a car one time, while she picked up my medication. I suitably got done with a case of claustrophobic paranoia and vowed never to let anyone ‘lock me in’ anywhere ever again. 

I'm locked-in quite enough with sleep paralysis every night. Damn my neighbour and his thru-wall maser gun. I might knock for the grunt and slay him.

I think they thought I was going to stand up for the drunk.

The police just kill you pal, what can I do? Not get involved is what. Or call more police for the police, I don't know.

Back to the power struggle. To the untrained eye, it might look like a normal conversation, with people taking turns to chip in with nuggets of wisdom, all friendly and courteous and polite: To me, however, it is anything but, rather a dog-eat-dog verbal fight to the death full of underhanded insults and bribes, until someone feels so mentally wounded under the surface that they clam up or walk away. Last one left standing wins. It’s people showing off knowledge rather than sharing it, telling long-winded jokes just to keep the limelight on them for a further three minutes, laughing at other’s mistakes instead of compassionately correcting them, and a whole other plethora of insider secrets far out of my own gullible and easily-led understanding.

Since when did simply ‘talking’ become a means contest?

Call me a lamb to slaughter. I’m only just now picking up on the ins and outs of the trade. I think I’ll continue to blank the power hungry vultures and stick to being open, reasonable, honest, and creative. Instead of simply being fast on my feet and snide.

It’s beautiful, the way they can’t make you like them, and the way they can’t be like you.

Thank God for that, at least.

💪Uploaded livestyle WWW by Andrew [representing] Gus Kidney

Is Suicide A Crime

# My mate got sectioned for hanging off a motorway bridge, attempting to take his own life, but he didn’t actually jump. Is this technically still an attempt, if you don’t make the jump, or a cry for help? Either way, he got detained and medicated.

# A cousin of mine threw himself frew a top window and got done for criminal damage. FACT

# If I cut my wrists open and lay there bleedin’ out, but got saved in time by the authorities, I can’t see them punishing me bruv. I been thru enough.

# Religiously, one cannot attend Heaven if pronounced unliving this way. It is permanent destruction of the Holy Temple, the second most precious gracious gift from on high, after the gift of consciousness.

# When I woke up after hanging myself from a banister I went straight to the garage for another bottle of vodka.

Response: What did you use, I heard greasy slick ropes are the only way to go.

Answer: A Frozen duvet cover. Disney Frozen, not actually frozen.

# I’m not surprised that this is the next biggest killer after cigarettes and alcohol.

Response 1: Cigarettes and alcohol don’t kill people. People kill people. And no I do not like guns.

Response 2: Cigarettes cause heart attack and alcohol causes strokes.

Answer: They both cause suicide.

Response 3: You don’t throw the towel in after a heart attack or a stroke. Where’s the survivor warrior mentality in that set of behaviours?

# My daughter suffers from bulimia. She overdosed on Ritalin and barely survived. Convinced she was rescued by angels in a long white tunnel. I hardly let her socialize with her mates out of the house now, only on special occasions like birthdays parties e.t.c. she’s firmly on a protective leash lol after nearly losing her. Does anyone know of a way to thank angels for their service? Would that be a cultish thing? Any angel whisperers out there?

            PS: (i love you) We celebrated with a bottle of expensive wine as a family unit when we got her back, it was a Rose called Whispering Angel wouldn’t you like to guess, Rose is also a special symbol to me, to us, to the collective, we went for a white rose flower too, meaning chastity and innocence, except we used additional artistically peeled tangerine skin to indicate zest and funkiness, Rose wine and rose petals yeah with fruit, we also had the bottle inscribed personally with lyrics from Adele’s fav song, “I wish I was more like Me, And less like You…” (she had a stalker) we’re keeping the empty bottle and saving it up with silver coin money to buy another couple of bottles whenever the next special occasion rolls around, hopefully when Adele’s stalker(s) get(s) caught, (he) (she) or (they) are making my daughters life miserlie, they target our house’s socials and postcode and telephone with bizarre late night messages the police are absolutely useless there are pretty much no laws covering the abuse we r getting dragged thru if only I could get my hands on:

Response: Your mingin badass lass ain’t getting no wispers she 2 spotty n zitty 4 dat I knows a place she can go 2 itz the end of my big fat knob to suk the jews out of it for the rest of her dayz ha get stoned with me bee atch.

Answer:________________(no reply)

# I wuz a headbanger into devil music and ket I lost 3 friendships to this, a permanent solution to a temporary problem, listen to gospel now and praise Jesuz cleen…

# survived self-murder five times, will keep tryin thou

# don’t wanna be here either, bills crap food n taxes

# Can someone help with my self-destruct button, it completely sabotages my whole existence ?????????????

# No.

# Write about the things making you depressed, a list of consequences should you continue down that road and a grats (gratitude) list also to remind yourself of positivity in life. There’s a diverse tapestry of opportunity in life you just have to search sometimes hard for it. Check out recommended self-help books attend a group to share your story grab a me-too block of personal private time to yourself and enjoy fine dishes of lovingly prepared rich tasting food exercise if you are able just a tiny bit is better than nothing even once and down up the field is lapping the couch potato doing jack all.

PS: Walk tall be happy dude keep smiling don't ever let anyone see you down people see you down it lifts them up that's why some wanna see you down more often than you'd prefer to be because it suits their agenda. They have no ability to lift themselves up because it takes talent to pick yourself up off the ground they are always on the ground because of their nature they enjoy been there they don't wanna be up and if they do its only to make you jealous to keep you down there in a jealous state they'll take jealous if nothing else only way for them to bear their own state of being if someone else is down in their own state. 

PSS: I tell everyone who asks me that i am doing swell today in this marvelous weather to me even the rain is liquid sunshine the crops need it to grow we'd all die if it didn't rain listen people man up there are wars going on for our emotions out there they are all we have our smiles and our cries the forces out there are so cruel they opt to steal our cries as well as our smiles so we can't cry about having no smiles.

Challenged

[137] [138] 139]

[140] [141] [142] √ 

Considering I enjoy a drink first thing in the morning I’ve been doing superbly well. I’ve just been apologising about how difficult it is to go the whole day crawling the walls inside a council flat without a few lagers. I know I should join a gym, before moaning, but still…four cans make a dire situation easier.

I got accused of ‘glorifying’ alcohol by the facilitator. This is a big no no. Honestly, I wasn’t, I was just trying to make it clear how hard it is to go without your best friend. It was a reasonable challenge to my statement, but everything I say lately attracts challenges from others around the table, it seems. They pounce on my word game because I’m a threat to their fakery. A challenge intervenes your syllabic flow and changes the subject to the challenger’s agenda. Anyone could challenge anything just to be a spoilsport.

___________________________________

For example: “I just can’t cope lately. I lost my brother. Lethargy and persistent thoughts have knocked him over the edge. He was on the Liverpool Pathway (end of life care).” CHALLENGER: “How can you be sure he’s dead?”

____________________________________

Does it matter? Does anything matter? Because he died in my feckin’ arms. Just let me get to the juicy bit! People say anything to interrupt. When you’ve waited an hour to apologise in a room full of tension with plenty of strangers and powerful superegos it’s not easy to start speaking. A newcomer might be relying on you. You might want to use your experience to help a youngster who is struggling to share.

I usually have a couple of topics identified in my head to discuss to the group. I give my speeches names. Bored Grief might be one. Faithful Gratitude may be another. I do this only to remind myself of what I’ll be on about, in case I forget. Because I do forget. My mind goes blank sometimes. I blame all the residue of chemicals lodged on my brain stem. I used to do talks called Depressive Medicated Slumber Gym when I felt more up to it. Or Upbeat Insomniac Crafts Therapy.

These days I’m challenged as soon as my trap opens and shut down for good. Just don’t mention Painted Dolls Legs Akimbo, Assassin Bed Sharp Mandibles, or Stealing Of Nanny’s Purse.

Women are freezing me out on purpose in the group by taking calls and leaving the room and making strange signals to the facilitator in my peripheral vision and then expecting a hug when it’s over. It’s full of conmen, clones and doubles mate. An elderly lady dropped her walking stick on purpose just to interrupt my flow. They stand up and ruffle their coats to distract me. One woman started playing with the bin for some reason. The world renowned famous jangle of keys is not dead yet either. That old chestunut’ll never run out of fashion. It doesn’t sound like much but in a silent room where people are concentrating it makes its cumulative mark. Especially if you know that it’s all about you! And they know too! Of course they know, or they wouldn’t be doing it!

The classroom is like a government experiment with me in the centre.

Good news – it’s easily stopped. You just raise your voice and demand they quit being immature. But then they report you for being passive-aggressive. I’m the one with the record so I’ll be first out the door, no one will believe me. And there’s no such thing as a thug apologist. We’re all gentlemen at the end of the day. This is England, for Christ sakes. I may be black, with a history of uncontrolled serial thrill-killer sprees in Chelsea beer gardens, but I talk rather eloquently when I’m not falling over my thick tongue and I have 11 (yes 11!) G.C.S.Es.

Plus I enjoy it. So stop freezing me out and let me talk!

They even make people scream within earshot to freeze me out. This is no joke. Torture follows me around and I can’t do anything about it. Call me dim, but I still don’t know, even after all these years, if it is in my head or the shady isolated rooms above and around me. I often tried to follow it to its source, to no avail. Now I ignore all.

Apparently, when I was younger, my stupidity cheered people up. I still have no idea what is going on in the world. Perhaps you can tell by the quality of my writing. I spill my guts to you guys and where does it get me? Google knowing everything about everything concerning my backdated porn stash in the shoebox in the attic, that’s where.

I have helicopters parked on the field, spying neighbours, UFOs above my house, invisible men in futuristic suits in the kitchen, black ops, and a demon and a ghost and a spectre or two hanging around my person, every minute of every day. This is mental, but the general public are no ease on the strain, as they huff and they puff and they curse my mood away with their spite and their insults and their general animosity.

Isn’t life a bowl of cherries, eh? And they have a pill for this. C l o p i x o l. Remarkable.

Just to rewind a moment – there’s nothing wrong with glorifying alcohol. I think you’ll find its common in comedian’s stand-up shows. My best story involves drinking a bottle of whiskey and falling asleep on a pre-warmed electric blanket. I forget to turn the blanket off and baked myself to toast overnight. My mouth was like an ashtray in the morning. My organs were overheated, I was profoundly dehydrated, it was certainly no jubilant period of rest. I’d passed out for Lord knows how many hours with a lie-in to polish the occasion off. 

Psychic Brain Attack

I couldn’t find a Mind Weaponry For Dummies Book, but I do have a few ideas on what I’d like to use on my in-laws, should I ever get the chance. Here’s for when they are falling asleep and starting to snore in tandem on my sofa when the baseball is on.

 #WhackHammerThunderClapDetonator…Control Kit ₀45:

This device can usher in 200 dB (decibels) bang-slap between a poor human being’s eardrums, the sound effect of a nuclear device. Note: can be adjusted accordingly so as not to make them permanently deaf. Best utilised when they are drifting off into Stage 1 sleep. Scrutinise them from a safe and guarded location until they are just about to doze…and then press the button with your mind via Brain Computer Interface (BCI). Guaranteed to shock them into another dimension.

One comment on WhackHammerThunderClapDetonator_Control Kit ₀45

“My Granddad, when I used this on him as an experiment, spilled his tea.

His cap also fell off. He couldn’t stop curtain twitching all afternoon.

He thought it was a real bomb. He thought we were being invaded."

#GiantDraculaPork

ChilliArseWorm_edition 2.2

Add extra spiky bristles**Increase temp**Chute Depth**Shooty Lava Jet**Sharp Move. Just several changeable factors on this telepathic rascal. Victimise your enemies with the latest edition. They will surely be keeping the toilet paper in the fridge if not fingering themselves with an ice cube.

One Comment on GiantDraculaPorkChilliArseWorm_edition 2.2

“I had this used on me by my ex. He said he was controlling it with his mind.

It felt like a midget was drawing concentric circles on my A-hole with a throwing star.

While the whole thing was on fire. I had to sit in a cold bath at one point.

Fortunately we got back together so now he lets me use it on other people I don’t like.” 

#SelfishConkJobbie_1000+

Over a thousand olfactory hallucinations emanating from more BCI tech. Read from an index and “think” the odour into your target’s brain, then watch him gag as he comprehends rotten eggs, stinky poo, festering fruit, blocked drains, or low tide.

One comment on SelfishConkJobbie_1000+

“Best aroma on there was the salmon one

It got stuck up Darrel’s conk.”

 If I can think of any more neuroweapons I’ll let you know. Being a deviant with imaginative ways to hurt someone isn’t my forte. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d just batter them. Sitting next to them from behind neighbour’s walls until they fall to sleep and then getting the masers out doesn’t appeal to me. Cooking their internal organs seems a bit excessive because they cut you up in traffic. Who knows why people are out there wounding their fellow man clandestinely, for years and years on end. I’d say it was because they are bored, lonely, obsessed, repetitive and unwanted, probably. But hell, who am I to guess?

____________________________________

/If you are having terrible things perpetrated against you then hold tight and don’t give up hope. Quit all your vices and ignore them. They feed on your reaction so bite your lip they aren’t worth the wastage of your breath. I tried to talk them down for years got me nowhere, I was open and honest and respectful they don’t care about the words you use, only that they are being entertained, hence the word bored, sooner or later they just bounce back on the pain grab, they’re addicted to your suffering and cannot live without your interactions with them. Simply tell them no you are not interested. They go all mad when you do this and start flapping for attention. Then you see them for what they really are: Desperate no marks who couldn’t make it in real life so had to engage in zerzetzung (decomposition of the human soul). Eventually they try to spoil your every peaceful moment, so what does that say about them. Tip: Focus on Heaven it drives them nuts/