Welcome to my secret lair

Okay, the date is 26 January 2019, and the time is 5:24 am. Take a seat. Thanks. Do you require a drink of water or anything? Cool. I’ll have Igor bring that up right away.

Well then, let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Now, let me make myself clear, here. Because I fear you might confuse me for some sort of charlatan. LOL no. I’m sorry. My name is not Charlotte, nor is it Charlie, Chucky nor Charles. *shrugs* I dunno… I don’t know what to tell you?

I lament that I have been branded as a great deceiver, when truly you’re the ones who decided to deceive your own self. LOL. I didn’t lie, I told you what would happen. I told you to trust yourself because people around me always get hurt. Not by me, I don’t mean to hurt people, but that isn’t to say they don’t get hurt around me.

No, people hurt other people on my behalf… not that I wanted or asked for that… but… I don’t know why. People just… do stuff…? Because of me? Or for me? I have no idea. I ‘inspire’ people, I motivate them, somehow…? ARGH FUCK THIS! I DON’T KNOW!

If this wasn’t just me typing stuff, if this is real, if this isn’t just me implanting images and ideas in your head through the medium of the written word on a digitised screen?! In your mind’s eye, imagine I have ‘snapped’ and I’ve flipped the table that was the only thing separating the two of us.

Imagine me in your face, real close. My hands on the arm rests of your chair, on either side of you. You can ‘feel’ the heat radiating from my skin, but we are not actually physically connected in any way. You just… feel it, inside.

I am sure you remember me, now? Hmm… the time on my laptop says it is 5:39 am.

Very well then. You are a silent mother fucker. I don’t know what to make of you yet. But I know whom I consider to be my friends… but when people don’t reveal their name, and they only go by symbols… You leave me no choice but to speak of such ken.

I accept your name for me. I am a lot like Barbie. Except for the fact that I look nothing like her, she looks nothing like the me in my form in the here-and-now. Barbarella or Cinderella? LOL. No.

Imago ami! Betwixt sheshard! I am quipster. 

The fucking frenetic, fun-loving (and apparently now fondleable?!) femme-trefoil barber of Seville. 

FIGARO!! THAT’S IT! YOU GOT IT! Yay! Haha. c756274d5cffbcf8b6db8924c46ff9c1.jpg

Ok. now I am happy again. Thanks for the exploding party cannons, Cheese Sandwich! But.. I’m not Pinky Pie anymore. I don’t host any parties. Those days are long behind me… Yeah, I hosted parties in the PAST, when I was under the sea. But I’m no longer under the sea, am I?

I mean… WTF dude, I told you where we were… where WE ARE. Well… I didn’t say it. I only implied it. With my feature image at the very top of this post… I guess it depends on whether you are viewing this from your WP reader feeder, or directly through an open window? You know, if you’ve got my webdomain typed in the address of your browser. *shrugs*

I’m going to re-release my SKull crusher mounTain thingy ma-bobby over the course of… TODAY.

why?! Because it is AUSTRALIA DAY! HAPPY AUSTRALIA DAY! HAHAHA! Frick yeah, 6:00am too! hahahahahahahahahah hahahahahah

hahajhfajshfkjafjagsl GA hwafsjcSK nlAkf ;iqowcJASCKAsc


Total evil maniacal laughter. I am the spirit of this GREAT LAND. I’M AUSTRALIEN.


LOL. LIKE.. HAHA. I DUNNO MATE, JUST… TRYING NOT TO FUCKING DIE IN MY HEART. Yeah, I don’t mind dying in my head, that helps me cope with my whatever stuff… You know, the stuff I don’t understand. You do it all the time too. You might not know it, but you do.

It’s the idea of the ‘mind being blown’, an exploding brain, or inflated like a balloon. Too much, too soon, and POP! Explosm all over, with bits all over me, apparently. Because I just happen to be here.

Just… fucking… perfect timing… and anyone who just walked in? And saw that your insides were all over the frontside of my outsides? Fuck, man, that will certainly look bad…

I mean… I know what I’m thinking of when I’m telling this to you. But I somehow doubt it is the same memory I am drawing from… I can only give you a clue. It’s fucking hilarious (for me, but it might be considered EVIL to them, or it might be considered GOOD to you). Okay. I’ll tell you their identities… The real deal who was responsible for coating me in their fluids… I’ll just leave you with some clues… If you want answers? You’ll have to pay me on Patreon. Or PayPal. Or… fucking something. Because doing shit for MONEY is usually enough of a satisfactory explanation to describe one’s motives.


  1. BJS.
  2. Stacey’s mom has got it going on.
  3. I have family who are of that ligature.
  4. I have no child who carries that name.

Ugh. Something or other. I fucking hate myself. Why? Because I dance around the chamber pot far too long, too busy singing my song, that I forget to get the whatever it was that made me walk into this particular room in the first place.

Oh fuck. I… I didn’t realise you were glued to you seat? And.. did I tie you down? I… I don’t remember doing that to you…

Umm.. maybe you should go? I think it’s best if you go on your own, I might lose focus and remember why I dragged you here (kicking & screaming, no less) in the very first place, in the very beginning…

Fuck. It’s 6:30am. It’s early. You really should get the fuck out of here. Scram. Scrat. Scree. Jaffa kree, you may go.

Posted by

Muse of epic poetry. Mother Metatron. Contemporary teacher of humanity and art.