Hit Delete,Butterfly’s Will Come…

Last Christmas my father told me about a wonderful invention called the delete button, and from my understanding it is on most keyboards.  Apparently if you get an e-mail that you believe will cause you distress, you can actually delete it before you open it and POOF, it never existed.  Time goes backwards, and the creator of this distressing e-mail is struck down by lightning, losing any recollection of why he even sat down at his computer.  Amazing!

I learned about this as my father’s brother was using me to try to develop his skills as a fictional writer.  I am all for creative writing, but writing fiction requires the ability to remember certain aspects of the story as you write.  If you do not have consistency, there is confusion and your creation will have no believability.  Especially if you are taking fact and twisting it into fiction.  If you cannot keep your story straight, you may want to rethink your plan.  Because when twisted fiction affects someone’s life outside your bubble of followers, it may not end like you want.

That being said, most of my family lives in a bubble. Too many of them like to hang out there, which results in brain damage from the lack of oxygen.  Common sense becomes non existent, and they lose the ability to understand that fact and fiction are not the same.  While fiction usually has some facts, the wanna be writer’s of my bubble family took fiction and passed it off as fact. This created such a frenzy, their demented crap leaked out of their bubble into the real world, my world.

When I asked my father to stop his brother from harassing me with his fictional e-mails, he put his beer down for a moment, and told me about the magical delete button. I could just touch that button, and butterfly’s would fill my room while his brother was hit by lightning.  All the e-mails that were sent to everyone saying I was a drug addict that steals from family, would go POOF, and rainbows would fill the sky.

I was astonished to find my delete button does not work like my father said, maybe because I do not live in a bubble.  I have since learned his retirement was getting boring, so he created some of his own fictional bullshit about me for my bubble family to enjoy.  They drank their Kool-Aid, and followed along like good little non-thinkers. Unfortunately for them, I do not like their Kool-Aide, it tastes funny. I do not follow anyone very well, and I could never live in a bubble full of bullshit.  However, I am just as stubborn and like him I do not back down easily when I think I am right.

People screw up, make their mistakes, and the universe has natural consequences that follow.  I have written e-mails that gave me a year long vacation from owning a gun.  A natural consequence I learned from.  I send the occasional e-mail into the world of my bubble family, letting them know I am not pleased about some of the things they have done lately.  It gets forwarded around the bubble and they talk about how horrible it is that I can type the word Fuc8, and that I need to move on and stop bringing it up.  They should know at this point, their acceptance is not really my concern, I know what kind of person I am.  Mistakes happened, natural consequences will follow, and life will go on.  As far as the irritating e-mails I send, they can hit their magic delete button, and watch the butterfly’s fill their bubble as my words fade away and go POOF!

Arizona’s Bullet Proof Paper

Hollow PointCreating one email to insure an order of protection will be placed on you is not that easy.  It has to be a detailed step by step run down of what you would like to do.  Involving the elderly will improve chances the judge will issue it against you.  However, if you really want to see your name after the word defendant, make sure the plaintiff writes fiction well.

With an OOP, they are going to arrest you first, ask questions later.  Which will probably stop most from contacting the plaintiff for the next year.  You do not want to spend the night sleeping on urine saturated cement, digesting a dry bologna sandwich and peanuts, with twenty other happy souls and one toilet .  If you are lucky enough to live in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s county, you will get to enjoy your meal in a 120 degree sweat filled tent wearing pink. I do enjoy being outside, feeling the morning sun on my face, and I look good in pink.  However, I learned years ago that, I, in fact, do not like Joey’s bologna sandwiches.

You have to be careful, especially if you are not certain who is involved in wanting you to meet the sheriff. Situations will be created, enabling constant contact with the authorities.  While this can be stressful at first, most cops are understanding of the situation.  They have even heard the F-Bomb dropped once or twice, and probably will not freak out much if you slip. If they ask strange questions, remember they were probably told a story, so just answer the best you can.  Once enough police reports are written documenting you are not crazy, but the plaintiff may have some issues, the questions fade.

If you ask for a hearing, and it results in anything other than dismissed, Brady will apply.  Which means you are on the “Fed’s Gun Blacklist”  for the next year.  You probably want to re-frame from having a gun within your reach.  Notice, I said “a” gun, it does not have to be one acquired for yourself.  If you know it is around, according to Mr. Brady, it becomes yours.  You might ponder that idea into clarity, over the next five years in the Federal Pen, if it confuses you now.

I one hundred percent believe in the second amendment, and in Arizona’s gun laws.  If a criminal wants a gun, they are going to get one. Or five AK-47‘s with a thousand rounds, if that is their desire.  Regardless of the law, Mr. “What You Need”, is always standing on the corner, like a Walmart greeter to the black market.  Supply will never disappear as long as there is a demand.  Until society does a 180 and someone figures out why we shoot each other, I demand the right to defend myself.

Which brings me to the bullet proof paper that has me listed as a defendant.  The creative writer of fiction, the plaintiff,  is quoted as saying, ” I have no doubt, she would use a gun if she had one.”  I did have one, when I sent my OOP granting email, a nice Smith and Wesson 45 with a hair trigger.  The hollow point ammunition that filled the two clips may have even been illegal, I do not really know.  I can promise there is not a lot that would stop one of them once the trigger was pulled.  Certainly not a piece of paper.

I do respect the order, and the gun sold with me never breaking the Brady Law.  My beautiful Smith and Wesson will be replaced one day.  When it is, I will still continue to fight my battles with words, maybe even a F-bomb or two.  That being said, come at me with an intention to physically harm my family, it is a guarantee, I will use my right to replace F-Bombs with hollow points.

Child To Throw F-Bombs-Close Your Eyes Assholes

Today will mark the 100th day that we have been “on the run” from family who have lost their minds.  This is what they are saying with their loving actions….

“Sorry, Dear, you are guilty of theft, period.  We will not ask you anything about your guilt directly.  We will only speak through emails.  We will tell anyone that may give you a word of encouragement that you are a piece of shit that deserves nothing.  And now that we have reached 100 days, we will be forwarding out a three-month old email,  trying to prove that this entire FEST is all your fault.  We did nothing wrong.  We did not steal clothing and give it to Goodwill.  The JUDGE did that remember?”

“Of course, Dear, we read every thought you wrote, typed, or drew, and kept for 20 years. We had to steal something we knew for a fact you could not get back from us.  Here are your thoughts back dear…See, we cannot give them back.  However, we can and will share them with others…friends, family, police, courts, CPS, and anyone else we can think of.  We are so happy you are good with that! ”

“Oh, your son?  Well, we thought it would build his character for ALL of us to completely ignore him on Christmas. We wanted to show him exactly what kind of people we are. We spent the day with his sister, we had to make sure she got her gifts.  Oh, his sugar glider died?  I am sorry, we cannot ever acknowledge that.  We do not even see him. You allowed him to have a potty mouth in the email he sent out, and our eyes filled with our own blood blinding us for life.

For this 100th day, in recognition the death of the innocent sugar glider, “Shug Zoe”, mate of  “Shug Night”, I am posting that twelve-year old’s email as he sent it, potty mouth and all. I guarantee he has handled this shit storm better than the adults who dragged him into it.                                  IMG_0215MA19759833-0014

December 28, 2012

So, you screwed us once again. You know…. I’m starting to lose count of how many times you have just straight pissed me and my entire family off.  Come on what the hell did me or my family ever do to you prior to these events?  Nothing…Absolutely nothing.  You know, I don’t consider you family anymore, or anyone else in that bloody house.  Except “XXXX”, who I would consider a friend.

You are one fucking idiot, man.  By the way, who in the hell fucked with my father’s FX Light Saber?  That shit was sealed, and we got it only to find it open.  I am done being quiet now.  It’s time I gave my opinion on this stupid situation.  You tried to get into my mom’s safe, didn’t you?  By the way, the only way you could get into the Ford Explorer is… Guess what?…BREAKING AND ENTERING!

I am absolutely fed up with your bullshit.  I hate you with a passion, I guarantee you that.  Oh, and guess what happened, just today?….You know our sugar gliders?  Yeah, there WERE two of them…But guess what?  ONE OF THEM IS DEAD!  And you know it’s your damn fault.  If you didn’t drive us into this damn hotel, we would have been able to care for them properly, and they would have been fine.

All because of this lie XXXX said, you automatically, Hell, I would say INSTANTLY accepted as one-hundred percent correct without even asking us.  Nice job with the restraining order against my mother, but you didn’t get one on my dad or me.  That means we are allowed to go to the Explorer, and you can do nothing about it.  Because you can try to twist the law into your own vision and make it all happy for you and your family, but in the end you will pay.  You can think yourself a god, but once again, you will pay.

Nice talking to you, Asshole.

Not Sincerely,

The Twelve-Year Old

Ego of The Asshole

The adrenaline rush that comes when you wake into your life and realize the insanity is not a dream, is like slamming some Starbucks for an hour before you open your eyes.  When you know that your thoughts from years ago have been taken by people who are supposed to be your family, vomit mixes with your morning Starbucks.ASS

You have to be some prideful assholes to open someone’s mail.  A statement not addressed to you, and from a doctor office…God must have taken a day off, so the assholes stepped in for a bit.  Holding another piece just to see if someone will loose their property in another state, it is time for a hobby.  Doing it all while a mental member of your cult chases someone with his fucking insanity, distracting them from what year it is, it might be time to pull your happy ass’ out of retirement.

When you have to actually touch people thoughts, and steal their things to “GET” something on them, your brains have shrunk from all the “DRUGS” you swallow.  You are demented in thinking returning SOME shit after your greedy grubby dirty ass hands have touched it all will make us go away and move on with our lives.  You should know by now nothing ever turns out like you think it will.  Kind of like when you tried to force someone into a shelter by kicking them out with nothing a week before Christmas. Acting as if the child involved means nothing more than dog shit you stepped in on the way to the bar during your holiday.  That would have been so much easier…Damn that free will, it can be a bitch when you think you are gods.

Some assholes think they are the smartest thing since Al Gore invented the internet.  Looking up law suites and financial information so they can say “I know blah blah”, as if is some sort of magic crystal ball only they have access to.  Before running your mouth about who has law suites filed on who, pull your head out of your ass for two seconds and look up the difference between plaintiff and defendant. There is a thing called a dictionary.  Shit, try Wikipedia once in a while, the schools wont allow it for reference, but I think they might for the special assholes.

The punks and assholes need to take a break from raping someone’s thoughts, rolling around in stolen shit while naked and say the word enjoyed by so many…”Hmmm”, and figure out what zone three primary residence means.

A favorite “Hmmm” quotes from the “all-knowing ten-year old girl”.

” Does your son know about the drugs?  I hope not.  You say you’re not on them, but why would someone go to the pain clinic on Oct 26th?  Hmmm, I can only think of one thing, that’s where you get drugs.”

How did you come to find out October 26th was the exact date genius?….Sorry, too late to think up the lie…who would believe a little girl’s rant without a little backing…The assholes are not only so VERY smart, they are physic. 🙂

Ignorance On Your Angry Chair

image

The idea to merge the camera and phone into one, is genius. I was able to take full advantage of it as I was texting on my way to our current domain. To “coexist” you have to acknowledge there is someone besides you trying to survive in this world.  When you ignore their existence because you do not like their faith, lifestyle choices or the way they express themselves, your ignorance can cost more than money.

I have used bad language a time or two through out my life. Some ghetto slang may even be spun into it depending on the situation.  I cannot say they are my proudest moments in life, but I am certainly not ashamed of them.  Some colorful F-Bombs are justified at their moment of birth.  Life stirs up some shit, conception takes place, and before you know it you are watching your baby F-Bomb grow into a giant as it hits your target.  It is at that moment, snowflakes of the ignorance turn into a blizzard, and you better take cover.

Most control their F-Bombs around certain people and situations.  Make it out of your thirty’s not having found yourself wearing the bracelets of a pissed off cop you met while running your mouth, you’re probably good.  Ignore someone’s existence by cutting them off in traffic, they might toss you a F-Bomb and go about their day. Have a crazy ex-husband who is not to be ignored on the road, and  the bombard of F-Bombs that bounce about might sting you. Watch the bounce evolve into idiots having a pissing contest with their side arms a few times, it will change your perception.  The F-Bomb wont kill you, the stray bullet might.

The poster child for true ignorance is the one who sits high up on their angry chair, filth dripping down his mouth from the afterbirth of racial slurs he creates.  His ears become born again virgins, his eyes suddenly blinded by the F-Bombs you throw trying to stop his storm of shit.  He rises higher fueled by that which he claims to despise.  His storm sucking your despair into his lungs, it has become his crack cocaine. You cease throwing, his crack gone, his angry chair full of pride and ignorance engulfing him as he screams for more.

Family Loyalty in The Traditional Fest Way

A little “FAMILY FEST” dialog between Spun and King Punk

What have we done, invasion of privacy what have we done,conversion of property what have we done???????????? maliciously made up the lie caused my SUV to be impounded.  Did I thank you for that one yet?

AB....MEANS... ABANDONED...

AB….MEANS… ABANDONED…

You keep asking why we are doing this, what is it we are doing? Umm, what have you done? Are you sure you are still unclear on that?

I’m trying to stay out of the mess between King Shit, and you.. I believe since you started the “mess”, I will call you the creator of FU8K FEST 2012 and yes I got copied on e-mails from King Shit and yes I copied him e-mails that you sent me…A warm up to sharing our journals, letters, medical records, etc.  Was there not enough mail coming to you, address to us, so you felt the urge to share other ways?  My apologies to everyone, I should have had more mail going there…

Did you enjoy touching everything? Too bad our personal sex tapes we made were in the storage you thought needed to be auctioned off to strangers.  Really though, your kindness overwhelms me at times. How can we ever pay you back for all you have done.

Just kidding about the sex tapes. They are actually DVD’s not tapes, and we picked them 2013-03-10 18.12.55(1)up on one of the several drugs runs we made to Vegas.  We thought you were going through a lot of trouble invading our privacy so we put them on the internet to make it easier for you.  Are we not the best or what?

So don’t e-mail me anymore, that’ll show me….What? Are you saying you no longer want anymore words of wisdom from me?  Now if you spent half the time you do on the computer trying how to get an O of P on King Shit finding out all about the laws about this and that, how you’ll show him a thing or to and that he’s just not dealing with some idiot that knows nothing about nothing…

…Sorry, I had to break up your really long thought… Yes my King Punk, that is exactly what I do all day….Your Peter Rabbit is the one who makes sure my son has a roof over his head and food in his stomach…I understand the Internet is a lost concept to you, to each their own.  However, learning to read what is on that order of protection concerning the words PROPERTY, and NECESSARY DOCUMENTS took two seconds.  I guess none of you can read those big words.

Like I told King Shit back in the day…have someone outside your cult read some shit once in awhile. Stop analyzing My Emails, My Welcome to FU8KFEST2012, My PRIVATE mail, thoughts, medical records, trying to find out “this and that” as you like to say…the big words will confuse you…

you might find time to get a job and find a place to live and put a decent roof over your son’s head and give him a normal life. No thanks, I have seen what “normal” people do all day.  Thinking up ways to invade our privacy, steal, lie, and finding even more ways to be the biggest hypocrites, not to mention assholes, is not something I want to teach my son.  You normal people should get a hobby to expand your horizons beyond me.

I know its not your fault, its mine, mrs.King Punk, King Shit,  You are correct up to that point, this mess is not my fault.  As far as the following two, Twerp and Twerpette, I am not certain yet, time will tell. However, I do not believe Peter rabbits,Tom thumbs ,Supermans, and all the other people in the world, had a freaking thing to do with this, you get all the credit. You should feel special..

Feel free to copy this to anyone, and tell us all…Thank you for your permission, I will feel free to do what I want with this…Just a quick FYI….Permission is something you did not have from us to touch our personal property.  Permission is something the Judge DID NOT give you classy people to touch, move, sell, give away, read, our property.  Nothing of ours, was, is, or will ever be abandoned…

The World of Peter Rabbit and Friends

WHAT HAVE WE DONE? Oh, I do not know…Maybe created and ran off the tracks the biggest FU*K FEST of your lives… 🙂

Phoenix Bad Ass @ 80-Days -Bring It On, Punks!

It has been exactly eighty days since we sat at our McDonald’s for the first time.  If I had looked into a crystal ball ninety days ago and seen even a silver of the first few days, I would have taken the crystal back to the fraud who sold it.

mcflip

It was only a few hours earlier you had reached out to your parents in an effort to get your son out of the mess.  You were completely ignored.  You spend Christmas hearing you need to go to a half way house.  You start to see this reaches farther than you could imagine.  You wast days trying to get anyone in your family to see how insane this is. You do not know they are the insanity.

Orders of protection are filed. You are floored with lies they say so easily.  You start to put things together. Times and dates are making more sense. You ask for a hearing on something you do not care about.  You want to know if they went into your private papers.  You have your answer.  You cannot believe they thought they could spin it into something.  You keep waiting for Ashton from MTV’s Punked  to walk out.

You still get emails from out-of-state saying they hope you can get some help.  Your weeks out and you wonder exactly what kind of help they think you need.  You learn information that makes it crystal clear how this started.  You could kick yourself for trying to explain anything to your parents.  They are so past not helping, they are growing tired of kicking dirt in the hole they threw you in.  You start telling them to back off.

They keep coming at you.  The poor little Saturn that has gotten you everywhere deserves a break.  You get money to get your Explorer running.  They find out.  They lie to the tow company, it is abandoned they say. The email says the charge for day one is the same for day 10. They lied.  You tell them to back off.

An email sent to you sarcastically saying “what did we do, what did we do”.  You wonder at what point will they see this for what they made it into.  You will never speak to them again. They are concerned about your son.  They are asking others questions, trying to find out any information.  They want him.  You remember when they would not take him.  They will never see him again.  You know the picture they are trying to build of who you are. They think they know you.  You know they don’t.  You tell them to back off.

You watch your son as he opens the door for her, his voice deep talking about hot fudge sundaes.  You think about the past eighty days and know there nothing you cannot do.   You know God does not give you more than you can handle. He knows you are a Bad-Ass.  You tell them….. BRING IT ON…