A lose-it post.
The simplest things can be the most fraught; it all depends on the degree of depravity as prescribed by the orchestration manager. I just got through on the third order attempt to a online national firm web application. The perps have me in a total crank mood today; any adversity put upon me and I have no choice but to go ballistic.
All my personal information got dumped twice, and on the third time the perps cranked up the noisescape with simutaneous motorcycle noise, "neighbor water use noise" (no neighbors here), chirping car tires, backup beepers and likely a few others that I cannot remember. It is plain venal that I am not allowed to order anything on the web without being sabotaged by sickos playing noise games while I fight yet another round of their orchestrated adversity. And furthermore, I have no say in how I react; it is the mind-controlled instant ballistic response that only began when this hell came on me in 2002. What are these criminals doing to my temporal lobes all the time, and why do I get zapped and pained there so often? (The temporal lobes of the brain are where response contol faculties reside).
And six kinds of corrugated cardboard file boxes were unavailible online before I could order an inferior substitute. This degree of control over someone's life hour by hour is utterly sick, and it is my sincerest hope that any quislings or shills get two weeks of it just to know firsthand what they enabled. And why not; I even promised my so-called parents that I would fetch the "medications" for them they say is the treatment, just to have them know it is of no clinical origin whatsoever. These perps are sick, depraved and have everyone in Victoria bought to trash my life in this idiotic game of pretend that keeps on and on, some 4 years now, after 47 years of their unnoticed adversity. Fucking sick, and I don't know the half of it.
PS Another lose-it event per mindcontrol and application of unconventional physical forces from a distance; opening the new olive oil container shouldn't be a problem, right? Well the perps were back at it again, jamming the spout in the cap and making sure it was a major piss-off to extract. Olive oil on my fingers, knife, and the new bottle, likely for more perp games. Over a year ago when egressing from my vehicle to the apartment building, they stripped the plastic shopping bag containing a new bottle of olive oil from my hand and had it hit the ground, smashing the bottle. Knowing this was a perp stunt for which I feel no responsibility, I flicked the entire mess into the nearby bushes. It seemed the entire plan was to have a large spot of olive oil soaked asphalt to walk by each time I traversed between apartment and vehicle. And the sickos are back at it still, and never the exhibit gumption to show their faces and account for this persecutional depravity. Invariably I get noisestalked at the precise moment I am pouring olive oil into the fry pan. Go figure.
PPS What do I find on the kitchen floor later? Why at least eight spatters of olive oil that will self-clean inside 24 hours. On and on over the sickest detail.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment