Fuck Stevie Nicks (revisited)

You know what? I'm not taking the bait this time.

You're going to need to bait harder, until you master it.

Hey, let me ask you this.

If Stevie Nicks sucks so bad, how come already this early in the holiday season the Stevie Nicks Barbie Signature Edition is SOLD OUT everywhere?

Which sucks because I seriously, seriously want one!  





I would literally do ANYTHING (besides gay sex) to own this.

You know what, Pi? Everyone I know loves Stevie Nicks. I never met anyone who didn't love Stevie Nicks til I met the shifty likes of you. What fkn planet are you from if you don't love Stevie Nicks? Not one I've ever heard of. You feel like she stole the limelight away from Christie McVie but you're the only person I've ever heard of holding that dumbass stupid opinion.

Pi, you should know by now that I'm not the kind of guy who gets less pissed off about something just because the board is silent.

I get MORE pissed off about things.  I become MORE vindicative.  I become unbelievably petty.

I'll go over your old posts to find shit I used to be mad at you about but forgot.  Then I'll use it again.

Hell, I'll just assign to the AI and let the AI torment you so I don't have to do it.  I'm typing these words out by hand, bro.  I ain't some AI dude.  

Please, man, you took the red pill remember?  Neo and Morphius and Cypher and all them dudes you used to talk about all the time?  

No, you know what I think happened?  And I'm going to say something incredibly personal to you here, so prepare yourself.

I think you swallowed a ton of blue pills.  You're glugging down bottles of bue pills daily.  You eat those m'fkrs like jelly-beans.  Your lips so blue you look like nasty ol' Gargamel been munching down on some smurfs.

That's what happened.  And now you choose to insult my Witch Goddess, Stevie Nicks.  Shame on you.  An insult to me personally, I could deal with it.  We could square this, man to man, with a cordial and polite rational discussion on the matter.  But things aren't that easy, because instead of insulting me directly like a MAN, you start spitting slander at my Witch Goddess!  How would you feel if I started talking shit about Mofo the legendary talking seal that only ever talked about fish all the time held sacred  by your eskimo religion or whatever religion you are.  Strikes me as Eskimo, but all the Eskimos I imagine knowing all fkn love Stevie Nicks.  She's probably like some prophecy figure in your own religion.  

You want call Bonnie Tyler a bitch?  Linda Rondstadt?  Juice Newton?  Barbara Streisand?  Janice Joplin?  

Go ahead.  I'll let it slide.  I'll find it disgusting, crude, and offensive but I will respect your right to voice that message.  Free speech, however, does not apply to directing your offense on someone's GODDESS.  That shit is illegal to cast offense on another's goddess during a dispute.  Hammurabi said so so it's still law.  You can't do that shit, bro.  It's against Hammurabi's code.

This is Hammurabi's code bro.  That means this has to get settled in a Hammurabian way.

It doesn't even matter because you'll shit yourself when you see the size of Hammurabi.  He'll see you pooped yourself, then proceed to turn around, fart on you, and walk away.  That's your entire trial and judgement.  By the way, did I mention that Hammurabi is huge?  Your face would only be about level perfectly with Hammurabi's butt.  So earlier when I said he farted on you, I should have mentioned that the primary blast radius is your face.

I hope you never meet Osiris either.  Osirus would take one look at you and just take a dump on the holy corridor in front of the entire pantheon to signal his disdain for you.  

Medusa.  Medusa's cobralocks just relax when they see you, baby.  Cuz that's your girlfriend is Medusa.  Oh yeah, kissy kissy with medusa.  French kissing Medusa now.....  all those snakilocks are getting in on it now, and peckish all over your face.  You keep massaging her feet and fertilizing her eggs, spawning an abhorrant race of hybrids that are snakes that have humans for hair, and the humans are always babbling about this dumb thing or the other that snakes don't care about and everybody hates each other and is miserable?  That's what your relationship with your girlfriend, Medusa, is like.

Coward.

You're loathsomely lucky too.  My hammurabian offense attorney says you got a chance to dodge this one.

But I'm not telling you how or what or nothing.  Not until Hammurabi himself reigns his judgement down all on your punk ass.  Like a jello-shot down a stripper's back at a raunchy club.  You're that stripper, so filthy letting dudes suck on your body all night like that for money.  In fact, you're gonna feel a lot worse than that sucky whore when Hammurabi's hammer strikes.

Hammurabi Time draws evermore nearly nigh.  What are you gonna do, Pi?  

You gonna bust out your parachute pants and start dancing?

You gonna try to defend yourself arguing that you didn't insult my goddess because she isn't a goddess or she isn't my goddess?

You don't get to the right to make those determinations against another dude's religion, so it just counts as more blasphemy against my Goddess.  It digs you in deeper and deeper with Hammurabi, bro.

And, bro, bro most his punishments are some form of death and/or dismemberment.  Look, how about just admit your are guilty and I'll drop my whole case against you.  And you write a long and heart felt apology to Stevie Nicks.  I'm saying real soul-searching needs to be evident in these paragraphs. I want to see tangible physical evidence of your soul in this apology letter, like with some portion of your living soul essence extracted out of you and then soaked in the parchmentary of the apology letter.  That is how high of a standard of sincerety I am expecting out of you here is.

That's for Stevie.  I'm also an aggrieved party in this transgression who demands appeasement if you hope to evade Hammurabi's mighty butt-cheeks squashing your head like a pomegranate.

What I'd like to see from you, Pi.  What I EXPECT to see out of you is an attitude change.

No more of this bs miserable telling me off all the time attitude.

Marvel at how wise my posts are.  LOL my jokes.  Agree with all my opinions, even if they are nonsense.  

Most importantly, you will believe as I tell you to believe.  And that will too be nonsense.  Soooooooo much nonsense.  Your brain will be saturated and exploding with all the nonsense I put into it.

This will render you in a babbling madmen, whom I shall mock.  I will put you in a jester suit and mock your mental illness relentlessly.  Why not?  It sounds like an amusing and perfectly legal form of abuse.

Notice how I didn't start maligning Christine McVie or ABBA or any of your shit?  That's cuz I follow Hammurabi's code, bro.  It protects me from evil, bro!

Hammurabi's code says that if a woman owns a tavern and charges 20% more than the cost of the grains purchased to ferment the drinks, throw her bitch ass in the cold river.  And this shit is pretty hebrew because it's all in shekels.  But it's great.  That means if you come into some town and go to the tavern and the beer sucks and you find out she's been doing that, you can grab her by the hair and toss her bitch ass in the river.  Of course, this being Mesopotamia they were all riverside bars.  Cold water is specified and I suspect it's because there were crocodiles, but they were more active in warm water.  You didn't want to kill her.  You wanted her to be humiliated in front of her peers, family, patrons, etc.  But you could only do it in the winter when the crocodiles were sluggish, so she could get out in time.  It would serve as a reminder for her to keep her prices in line.

Which over time became an annual holiday tradition.

They didn't need a law like that for male tavern owners.  As far as these guys were concerned all female tavern owners were whorehouse owners, which was true.  And they made sure those bitches paid their whoring taxes too. Bros before hos, bro.  That's the basis of Hammurabi's code.  That's how deep the basis of the law I'm charging you under is, bro.  Think about that, bro.

Hammurabi's Code bro.  

Hammurabi Time!  

This is a live broadcast.  I'm typing all of this live before I post it.

Yep, it's here, Pi.  Hammurabi Time just ticked down a quarter moment after nigh.

My vision shows little Eskimo Pi in his wittle seal fur parka pointing his little pointy spear up at Hammurabi. Of course, EP decides to start break dancing and abruptly shouts "Can't Touch This!" cuz he hates anything to do with History.

Hammurabi is so huge he just looks down at little Eskimo Pi and chuckles.

"Ah, but you CAN touch this!" Hammurabi chuckles as he pulls his wiener out, which is roughly equal to EP in mass and is head height for EP's head on him.  And by "head height" I mean Hammurabi's giant wiener is there in front of EP's face and EP's either got to try to battle it with his little spear and probably still get squashed by hammurabi's foot even if he wins against his wiener OR...

Will little Eskimo Pi drop his little spear and explore some alternative avenue out of this predicament...

Or should I write it like predickament?  Because Hammurabi keeps chuckling to give you time to work everything out, you know, the only way you really have out of this situation.  He likes watching you work that out.  It makes him chuckle.  

Anyway, I'm out.  It's all between you and Hammurabi to conjure the rest up from this point forward.  Cuz I really don't want to have to describe it and you probably get the jist already.

I don't want to hear all your gay sex stuff you got going with Hammurabi, bro.  This is where I depart, bro.

Yes, that's right, I am talking directly to you, Pi. I'm not mincing words anymore with Charlie or Ladyboy or any of your radiant array of other dipshit personas. What happened to Charlie Tan could have happened to anyone. It just happened to be you, because you're Charlie Tan.

Have you read your own autobiography over on the other thread there? You should. It's spot on. Probably 100% more accurate than your own memories, which are all lies. You've seen the Matrix, right? Case closed.

Here's how this goes down, Pi, if you want out. If you want this to finally stop. Numero uno comes that heartfelt apology letter to Stevie Nicks for you calling her a dippy broad. That's non-negotiable. None of this is negotiable!  You will promise to lay down your life for her, bowing and scraping for her mercy for the rest of your days for eternity. It's the first of series of document exchanges that leads to Stevie Nicks owning your soul, to be counted one amongst the millions of others she already owns.

She's welcome to it cuz I got no use for it. What would I do with your soul? This?

You had ample opportunity.  Equal opportunity.  I'm a fair guy.

The problem here is that you refuse to give Stevie Nicks equal opportunity cuz she's a broad.

You don't like broads.  Dames ain't for you.  We get it already.  

That's been fucking abundantly obvious ever since your ladyboy persona joined this site.  

You're a no-good liar in more ways than that too.  Oh yes, you are.

Your "opinion" of Stevie Nicks is insincere.  It's just a cover for your filthy nasty HATE.

Misogynistic ladyboy that you are.  

It begs the question is all I'm saying.  Did an older woman take advantage of you?

Maybe someone you trusted?  And she raped on you?  Shame! Shame! Shame!

Stop blaming yourself just cuz it's your own fault.  There's no point in that.

I bet she was way older than you, like elderly and you were like 20.  Probably your landlady because your rent was late and you made a living pulling up old fishhooks with a magnet to sell back to the fishermen, after you sand the rust off each one and buff it up all nice and shiny.  I'm talking tiny fish-hooks here by the way.  Like this dumbass won't make a nickel in an entire day but he keeps doing it regardless.  Then the m'fkr can't afford to pay his rent and has to put out for his elderly landlady.  She wears a slutty nightgown even though her skin is all saggy and wrinkly.  She's fat too.  Bitch is all covered in Cheetos dust.  You look for the wet spot otherwise you wouldn't even be able to figure out where to fuck her.  It's the wet patch of cheetah dust on this fat old wrinkly broad.  That's where you gotta put your wiener.    

Go ahead, Pi, click.  Click on it hard you SOB.  

What are you doing, reading all this as a guest?  OMG.  Sad.  

Go ahead click it.  Click it real good.  Like you are doing drugs in a disco. Just see what happens.
 
I'll tell you what'll happen, shitass.

None of this was ever really personal until you decided to shit on Stevie Nicks.  That's the precise moment in recorded history things became insanely personal.  All stemming from a willful and deliberate action on your part.  I don't hand out passes for shit like that.  I hand out ass beatings.  

I am like a tiger, waiting to pounce. One click, asshole.  One click.  

You post one fucking ASCII character.  My rage will and shall be released upon you.  A true and mighty rage, an overwhelming rage of fury!  You don't know.  I've been gentle so far.  But gentle shall I no more be should I hear one single teeny-tiny peep out of you. A mouse-like squeal, I shall stomp and crush and grind it out under my heel.  

Just stay silent, Pi.  I cannot describe how incredibly annoying you are when words are coming out of you.  It's intolerable.  

It's always the same thing.  I'm having a nice time and then you suddenly show back up and start dragging down everyone and everything around you.  Everything's a bummer to you, man.

That's no way to live.  No matter what a man got or ain't got, he's gotta do some shit.  So handle your shit is basically what I'm saying.  Don't brood.  That's what you do on here, you brood.  

I bet the Raven has some choice advice for brooders. Oh no, don't make me dust off ThE RaeVyn.  

I can't believe I had actually forgiven you for the first time you slagged off Stevie Nicks on here, when really I needn't have bothered seeing as you were just gonna come back around and do same thing again the next time.  I no longer doubt.  

There's no benefit to me in giving you the benefit of the doubt anyway.  So that ends.  Today.  I will just assume ill of you in all matters forevermore from this moment onward.  You've proven yourself to be wretched skunk in the grass enough times over by now.  No further proof required.

That's right, Charlie.  Stevie Nicks is a real woman... with a vagina.  

You wouldn't even know what do with one of those.  You'd probably just guess it's a built-in coin-purse where women keep loose change and be jealous that you don't have one.   That's how you look at everything.  Like if some broad whipped her vagina out, you'd probably place a bucket under it and start pulling her arm up and down hoping for a jackpot to come pouring out of her cooter.  

Sorry to tell you but life don't work that way. Vaginas definitely don't work that way.

Do you remember that nasty rumor going around about you on TBJ and then on here?  Maybe not cuz  it was all private msg stuff.  Nobody wanted to say it to your face because it was that bad.  

But I will.  When the time is right.

Very nasty rumor, I assure you.  But let us just set that aside for now.

We do have other matters at hand to discuss.  I neglected to set a deadline on that apology letter to her glorious majesty Stevie Nicks, which is how you will address it.  Failure to meet the deadline will result in devastating consequences to both you and your eternal destiny.  

That deadline is set for when the time is right.  Not a moment sooner and definitely not a moment later.  

It really took me a while to figure this out.  How deeply you had insulted me.  At first I was like, "Ha ha, ok.  This son of a bitch is just trying to get me riled."  But you really hate her, don't you?  

Not even so much pissed off at me, are you?  You're actually pissed at her.

That took some time to sink in for me.  In fact I'm just now at this moment awakening to the fact.

How did I not see it earlier?   Hatred for me wouldn't bother me.  But deep-seated hatred for Stevie Nicks?  What is it, Charlie?  Her fame?  Her talent?  Her boobs?  Is that why Stevie Nicks is a whore, Charlie, because she has boobs like all these other whore-women who also have boobs?  

That just pisses you off, doesn't it?

I'm not gonna spell out what the rumor was word for word on here cuz I don't want to barf all over your face, howevermuch you would probably enjoy that. 

Instead, today, I will allude to revealing a part of that nefarious rumor, which involves you eating rotten eel guts atop a runny mound of stinking baboon diarrhea. That's literally the name of the dish as it's listed on the menu with a photo!  What I can't understand is why you selected it in the first place.    I bet the waitresses adore you, because you're such a regular customer there at the turd restaurant.

And that's the least repulsive aspect of this much grander, multifaceted rumor.  Believe me, if I don't see that signed Stevie Nicks soul contract letter PDFed onto to this exact thread at the exact right but stll as yet unknown time, this gets much worse.

Perchance I may speak upon another whisper of that rumor, more of a post-foreshadowing of the end of it.  It does NOT culminate in Pi and Eggraid butt-sexxing BTW.  That's not even when it starts.  That all's going on before, during, and after and all of the rest of it.   It's old hat news.  It's the kind of news a fellow just crumples up and throws in his old hat and leaves it there.  But then one day, decades later, he pulls out the old hat and reads that story again.  He puts on the old hat and goes back there.  But the hat is really irrelevant since you're always back there in butt-sex world with Eggraid anyway.  No, my friend, this rumor is far more sinister.  If you only knew all that was being said about you and how it surrounded you...  Well, fortunately for you, you don't.  Do not fret, your spell in ignorance shall be short lived, for there is still as yet far most of this tale left to be told.  

 You mean to tell me that you still don't know what this rumor refers to, after all these years, you still want to pretend?  Fine...  That's fine.  I'll play along.  Whatever.  We'll all just fucking play along with you having amnesia.  What do you tell yourself, after all the hideous acts you have committed?    So odious, I now hope reincarnation isn't true because I think I would rather burn in hell for eternity than have to hear tell of your abominable deeds ever again.

The sordid mystery of it all, I will not say.  However be there one wag of your tongue that is not a fully notarized, tear-stained Stevie Nicks apology letter and this venomous serpent of a rumor comes home to nest in your head.   We'll see what that does for your "amnesia."  You're one of those hypo-amnesiacs and that's why nobody can trust you.  And if you can't remember that, remember this: the rumor mill never sleeps, it is forever churning away in hushed tones behind you like a wake.  Suddenly!  You turn to glance upon it, but all you catch sight of is your own dimly lit shadow, looking like a doofus.

OMG look at you, Pi, being so stoic and true to your word, reading these daily updates yet resisting the urge to strike back as a ceaseless chant of "clicky clicky lil chicky!" loops around in your head.  You're mad.  You're INSANE!  

Serves you right for spreading Rumors around here.  That's you.  I just tell the truth no matter what, cuz that's how virtuously the fabric of my being is woven.   

In your case, I reckon you are just woven the way you are woven.  Out of a turd.