Gangstalking Chronicle: Ya Don't Drink, Don't Smoke. What Do Ya Do?

From the Farfrummjokin Dept.

Well, kids...I feel you've made considerable progress over the past couple weeks. I might even say by "leaps and bounds." Let's see if we can take another giant step today. Please...try to stay with me.

First, though, a little food for thought: There are lots of great stories about Woody Hayes. I'm reminded of a rather short one. Legend has it that during practice, ol' Coach Hayes would go up against his lineman in "full-go" drills, them in full gear, him in a t-shirt. Hayes would emerge with his head and shoulders bloodied. Gnaw on that one for a while.

Anyhoo....

When all this bullshit started, the guy at the plant who made the comment about "tough love" shook his head at me the day after I sent a letter to the ACLU (or tried to anyway--who knows whether of not it actually got there.) and told me little joke:

A couple guys were walking down the sidewalk and saw something on the ground in front of them. They bent over and took a closer look. "Hmmm...looks like shit.", said one. The other took and sniff. "Smells like shit." Then the other guy swiped a piece with the tip of his finger and tasted it and said, "Yep...tastes like shit. I'm sure glad I didn't step in it."

I see that a key part of this scam is to have veiled hints dropped that insinuate the different accusations, baiting me into addressing them. Then, since none of it's ever "official," you can turn around and say, "But, how did you know? It must be true since you addressed it." Yep--I've been on to that one for quite some time, kids. But as things have unfolded, I've been left with no choice but to address each item. Fortunately, it appears that my ability to articulate here the reality of each aspect of the situation in clear and direct language has, in fact, had a positive effect to varying degrees. Therefore, now that I've turned you around on the big, big stuff, we'll move on to some periphery items that are equally as absurd that you super smart folks fell for just as well. But first, I feel we should briefly review the overall picture and its main causes:

I am the subject of a vast and varied campaign of character defamation because of core fundamental politics that starts with my right-wing fanatic family, particularly my Scientologist brother, who are sick with an inferiority complex. My completely insane, alcoholic, extreme radical feminist biological mother has played a key role as well. Has everybody got that? .......Very good. Ya know what?--Get out one piece of filler paper and a #2 pencil. I'll give you a few minutes to write that down. It will sink in better that way. Kayla!!--Stop picking your nose! Wayne!! Sit up straight and put that GameBoy in your locker!! If I see it again, it's going in my drawer!! Okay--now, write...

(That's right--I am mocking you.)

....................................

Okay--eyes up here, children. Pay attention.

In regard to things you do, in addition to the methods I outlined yesterday, I also see the one in which a group of people sit next to me at a coffee shop and have a conversation for me to overhear which is meant to secretly influence me and adjust my "behavior." You bait my attention by making a comment about something that interests me, such as, oh, I don't know, grammar, maybe. Yep--I see all. (Like I said--it's like pounding a nail into a block of steel.)

Pay attention:

I am not now, nor have I ever been anything close to, an alcoholic. How do I know you believe this other than that conversation a minute ago at the table that just happened to be next to the open one I luckily found during that busy hour at Peet's? Well, there have been hints dropped before that, but there are two other reasons I've known for some time. First, while I was living with good ol' pops, I overheard him making a comment with a sigh to someone about beer bottles in the trash. What can I say?--they aren't real big on recycling there. I had to put them somewhere.

As I mentioned, my psycho feminist bio-mother is an alcoholic. Partly as a creative project to keep busy after escaping from psycho-bitch lawyer, and partly (HEY!! Pay attention!!) out of kindness--I repeat: out...of...kindness--to her, I embarked on a little t-shirt design project she wanted to do for her A.A. friends. They--I repeat: they--have some kind of big outdoor hoo-haw in the area every year. We talked about selling them there and a website, etc. Of course, when I realized the truth of this whole scam, I contacted the web-image hosting service I'd used for a couple of those designs and had them delete my account.

Other than one--one exception which is the direct and intended result of the loneliness that results from the isolation created by the covert psychological abuse to which I've been subject for years, I have always been addiction-free. Indeed, I am non-addiction-prone by nature. Just because it's a prominent phenotype in wacko Kathleen's makeup does not mean it must be in mine. I don't know anything about my bio-father, but it's a very safe guess that he is non-addiction-prone as well. I've always been an off-and-on casual smoker and casual drinker and will remain so at my sole discretion.

So...though one should never do it, I feel it must be safe to assume that you highly educated, well adjusted, upstanding pillars of society must be open to a little analysis yourselves. There is a direct and parallel relationship between your progress in realizing the number of different ways in which you are wrong about me and your level of denial of that awareness. Why? Because you have a self-inflated, self-important view of yourselves so deeply seeded, both individually and collectively, that you couldn't possibly bear to admit that you've been chumped by a sick two-bit con-artist with an intense inferiority complex and all his friends who can't stand intellectuals just like you. This state is further compounded by the narcissistic joy you experience from covertly manipulating other human beings. (All that from one Abnormal Psych class. Hawwww, hawwww.) Maybe you should get some help.

I know, I know--the truth hurts. But don't you feel better now?

Ya know what? I feel like a cigarette.

(Burn, burn, burn...(I can't stop listening to this. It's just so satisfying--in every way.))