A Joke

Lacey’s real personality when she’s angry is that of a proper, supremely dignified British aristocrat. And yet that rage has been mocked by people she was supposed to be able to trust her whole life. Her sweet, tender gentleness was recognized by her mother who raised her but most people don’t care. And now…as she she’s she realizes that her mother never necessarily did either like she pretended to. And all those years of childhood when her worst fear was that she wasn’t loved were based on fact not fiction in her case.

“I’ve never been loved enough to be able to be myself by even a good counselor.” says Lacey.

“I love you that much.” says Michael.

And at that Lacey cries momentarily before calming herself down to carry on with her day.


“I don’t think I can handle this blog anymore.” says a woman reading it.

“My life has been like that too.” says another reader.

“You know what…” someone says as they roll their eyes and walks off.

“Fuck you!!” yells the Loudest Perfume Hater seriously. “Did they flip her soul around?! Like her ugly, poor piece of shit is just hiding from us and if we saw it we’d feel confident and superior again?”

That’s a sampling of the reactions she gets. As per usual. Mockery, violence, demands of control and supremacy given to everyone but her. And in case you don’t understand, that’s wrong.

“I’m not smarter than her?!” says a perfume hater. “The what the fuck is she going on about?! It’s serious?! I thought she was just a sad joke I was supposed to feel sorry for in my splendor?!”

And at that…Lacey reminds the herd of sheep just heard from that the children are suffering. And their reaction is blank despair.

“Didn’t you misunderstand who Mr. Blue was?” asks Mrs. Blue.

“Oh, right! Yes! I did.” Lacey says thinking. “So, he’s more like Don Draper. But I thought he was Lem, Michael and Louis, etc.” says Lacey.


“Huh. So…those dead men are demons? Right? Or fallen angels. Right?!?” asks a herd of cheerfully hateful Charismatics who are excited by her loneliness as it gives them an excuse to feel socially superior and not care about her humanity.

“Don’t you all sometimes wonder?” asks Lacey.

“Oh my gosh! You’re just a part of the LBGTQ+ community!!!” says a gay man demandingly to Lacey.

“And that means the child sex slaves are not victims but members of ours because we!43 included in the great + sign too. Deal with it! I can brutally molest babies thanks to gay men everywhere!!” says a pedophile.

“I thought the argument was always that homosexuality was different than pedophilia?” asks Lacey.

“Well there goes legal homosexual marriages!” demands Lem of God. “You people ruined my life and you’ve destroyed so much hope she had. And happiness. And she’s right. Pedophiles use your seeming innocence to cover for their excuse that it’s human to do what they do.” says Lem. “They’re not human in their brains or hearts or both. They’re worse than rabid dogs. Are all of you the same?”

“That was the argument.” says the gay man to Lacey.

“Then what happened? It became a slippery slope and now the world is far worse off. Brainless zombies are pretending to be human all over social media and in private. And lesbians pigs are trying to use human empathy to get control for pedophiles.” Lacey says. “You lied!!? You lied to humanity??” She thinks. “You gained our trust in the past and now what? You demand pedophilia is an orientation? Are you all just narcissistic freaks who psychotically believe you love other men?”

“No! Men and women don’t exist!” says a Fox News journalist sarcastically.

“Why? Because some ugly psychopathic so-called lesbian didn’t want to be seen as just an ugly woman anymore for egotistical reasons?” asks Lacey. “Also, I know you don’t really care. Right? You’re soulless ghouls too?!”

“Well, the Liberals do have souls.” says Mr. Blue.

“Fair. But…who are you pretending to be?” asks Lacey. “You really maybe are more Don Draper than what? Michael? Lem? Louis?”

A hater laughs at her.

“What’s funny?” asks Lacey.

“Nothing! It’s just that your whole schtick is a joke!” says a model in the lower rungs of Hell. She was a pedophilic drug user who resembled Lacey in the 1980’s. Except Lacey is actually prettier.

“Is that my birth mother?” asks Lacey calmly.

“Yes!!!” say her haters, joyfully.

“No! That’s a model.” says a ghost. “Do you people read?”

“Wasn’t her mother pretty like a model though?!” asks a hateful gay man.

“Couldn’t she mean her mother looks like a model?!” asks a granola lesbian.

“No. I meant a literal model.” says Lacey.

“Okay?” says a bourgeois black woman, rolling her eyes.

“So who is this supposed entity?” asks a woman.

“I think she was a horrible person. And I think my abusers channeled her and made her me in their minds to get away with abusing me in their minds? It’s not necessarily true, but it would possibly make sense?” suggests Lacey.

“And she haunts you or what?” asks a Meagan.

“More like I’m cursed by her evil now.” says Lacey.

“So people interact with her when they’re narcissistically triggered by you?” wonders a black witch.

“Possibly. But she isn’t me, obviously.” says Lacey.

“Joe, Joe does this all sit with you?” a Liberal asks him.

“Oh well.” says Lacey when he refuses to answer.

“So…I conjured you when I channeled Michael Rockefeller.” says Mr. Blue.

“If that’s even a thing. They could be demons? Either way it’s Christianity.” says Lacey. “But my theology in regard to Heaven and Hell is confused right now. Although still traditional.”

“I’m not going to Hell!” says a hateful man who is so-called gay.

“Why not?!” asks the woman who Lacey’s been haunted and cursed by. She does resemble Lacey but they’re very different. She has thick curly dark blond hair in a shag haircut. She has a vibe, as a compliment to the actress, like Brooke Shields. Lacey is far more delicate and petite.

“Well, where are you?” he asks.

“Yes, you possibly conjured Michael.” says Lacey to Mr. Blue.

“Do you like that woman?” Mr. Blue asks Lacey.

“She’s cheerful. If evil.” says Lacey. “She’s evil though. I’d bet she overdosed in the 1980’s?”

The model is likely in the lower levels of Purgatory?

“I’m not her.” says a living 1980’s model.

Lacey rolls her eyes.

“So you had your own sexuality as a child and it was grand like a Queen and…the parents who raised you were narcissistically threatened by that.” says the gay man with a certain violent smugness.

“You know! Conversion therapy works!” says a drug addicted so-called former gay to the woman but via Lacey.

“I was a child. Not an adult. The word Queen suggests an adult.” says Lacey to the violently gay man. “Clear that up in your head, now!”

“The sexuality of Michael Rockefeller is grand. So was Lem’s. And you stole Lem’s dick to get power in the 1960’s and either the sea or the Asmats stole Michael’s brain.” says Lacey.

“You’re possibly right.” he says rolling his eyes condescendingly, in fear.

A female Millennial hater laughs at Lacey. She conjures a demon or the woman in the lower sections of Purgatory.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about! Idiot!!” says the possible dead model to Lacey through the Millennial.

“Do any of the dead men like her?” asks a shoe addict from Instagram.

“Of course not, that’s disgustingly stupid!” says Lacey.

“No! Why would we? Just because she was model doesn’t mean much. Get a clue!” says Lem to the woman.

“See…Kem still sounds gay to me!” says a high pop star in the Illuminati.

Come On Closer by Jem plays. Pedophiles use shitty, whorish, mannish female beauty of the 1990’s and 2000’s to delude themselves into thinking they’re being loved in return at all by their brutalized victims. And of course brutalizing a human is wrong now and always was, despite the-gay-flag.

Lacey wonders if most living adults had holes drilled into their brains by J. P. Kennedy in their sleep to make them better follower-robots.

“Umm…I think…I may have had an affair with that dead woman?” wonders Mr. Blue.

“What was that like, if so?” asks Lacey.

“She’s…wild.” he says.

“So am I in a way.” says Lacey.

He wants to explain that Lacey is wild but in an English sort of way. This woman is…possibly evil. And…cruel. And vile. But…because Lacey threatens his narcissism he says nothing.

“You must be that woman!” says a 60 something actor.

“No. I’m not.” says Lacey.

“Do we all relate to her when we talk to you?” asks the gay man with continuous violent smugness and condescension.

“We’ll torture and kill you and your family and frame you as a pedophile!” say a coalition of a gay cool-kid and a pedophile to Lacey.

“Okay fine!! So that thick curly haired model isn’t you. …Who are you?!?” the hateful gay man spits viciously with seething self-righteousness at Lacey.

“Who are you?” asks Lacey.

He laughs. Then he sees a patronizing smile on Lacey’s face.

“Here’s a question for the Catholic Church: How did you all become mired in the shit her father who raised her creates?” asks the Charismatic of the Illuminati.

“They live in it and use it to function and process vast swaths of reality.” says Lacey.

“Why were you friends with us!?” self-righteously asks a childhood friend of hers.

“Why were you friends with us?!” she mockingly says in response in a rage.

“I hate you!!!” says a lesbian coming on to Lacey even though Lacey has continuously expressed that she’s not at all not heterosexual. As in, Lacey is heterosexual.

“Noo… We can’t be lower than you!” the Illuminati whines with certain victims-victory at Lacey. “And you’ve deserved the way we’ve treated you!!!”

“Shit!!” says Mr. Blue.

“Why did your demons guide you to the possibly dead woman who was evil who her child molesters used to torture her?” asks a Charismatic of Mr. Blue. “When you tried to psychically contact Lacey.”

“Because they’re possibly plebs compared to the father who raised me.” says Lacey with seething, haughty disdain. She’s not all that different in her vibe from Bette Davis in a genuinely righteous rage but they hear that model instead.

“That’s not you reincarnated?!” asks a pedophile of Lacey about the model.

“Oh dear God, help us! No!!! But I’ll go check.” says Lacey. She returns. “No. No, I’m not that woman.”

Louis laughs at evil.

“Okay, so when I die…if that woman exists or anything if the sort I get first dibs on burning her alive.” says the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Do you think you interacted with her?” asks Lacey.

“Like without your knowledge?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“You really are very much like Bette Davis.” says the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Yes! I’m a lot more sweet, feminine and calm than Bette but yes. If God has allowed it, she’s helped me find my voice.” says Lacey.

“Okay…so that force behind your words is real. And I’m supposed to feel intimidated.” she says.

“Good Lord!” says a 60 something actor. “Of course! And I refuse to be intimidated!”

“Why?” asks Lacey. “Now the psychological torture of my real personality by the deranged freaks of the Illuminati and their demons begins.” says Lacey as she begins to feel the idiots try to control her to rape Lem and molest kids.

“You’re not Bette Davis.” someone says to that actor.

“But who cares! I could be her son! She’s shit compared to me as an artist.” he says.

“Are you trying to attack me to get me to kill homosexuals?” asks Lacey.

The actor looks at her with what’s possibly glaring conceit.

She shakes her head no and closes her eyes.

“You know Bette Davis might have Old Money blood.” says a hater thoughtfully.

“So…would this woman have worn Chanel No. 22?” asks a perfume hater.

“No! Never.” says Lacey.

“What would she have worn?” asks a perfume hater.

“Are you Bette Davis reincarnated?” asks the 60 something actor of Lacey.

Sphagnum Esplanade by The Shins plays.

“No.” says the entity conjured by her abusers.

“No!” says Lacey to the actor. “She’d have worn Love’s Baby Soft. …And…Good Girl Gone Bad…and Miss Dior Blooming Bouquet to be pretentious.”

“No, I liked her.” says Mr. Blue.

Lacey laughs.

“Don’t worry. I’m not an abusive person in any way like Bette Davis supposedly was to her kids.” says Lacey.

“Was she fun?” Lacey asks Mr. Blue.

“I thought so!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

Mrs. Blue rolls her eyes in contempt of it all.

“What? She’s fun!” says Mr. Blue to his wife.

“Then why didn’t you answer me when I asked you?!” asks Lacey offended.

“Fine! She’s cool. Cooler than you.” he says.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just a generational thing.” says Lacey.

“Okay…soo…?” asks Batgirl III of Mr. Blue.

Stalin laughs. “Oh wow. You guys have problems.” he says.

“They sure do dude!” says Lacey.

“So she was…heartless?” a witch asks Lacey.

“Possibly.” says Lacey sweetly.

“Shit!!! I just hate you.” The Loudest Perfume Hater says.

“Why?” Lacey asks.

Don’t Panic by Coldplay plays. Stalin rides in the back of a convertible like in a music video. He’s smiling. He’s happy. He’s vibing to the music.

“Elliott that’s dope!” says Lacey to Elliott Roosevelt. “Got any more fly shit for us to vibe with?”

“No, bitch!” he says.

“That’s a vile thing to call me.” says Lacey to Elliott. He smiles kindly.

“Is she a demonic entity or a woman?” a witch asks Lacey.

“Forget it! We turned homosexuals into gross freak-children protected by and dependent on the toxic patriarchy.” says a Charismatic. “They never have to be accountable.”

“Are we dependent on oil?” asks a gay man.

Lacey prays God will help them sort that out.

“I love her!” says Thirsten about a possibmewoman we’ll call Amanda1960. Or Amanda1962?

Thirsten laughs.

“Well…she’s what? ‘Gorgeous’?” says Lacey.

“She’s mine!” screams The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Who? Lacey that ugly gay whore?” asks a gay man seriously.

“No.” The Loudest Perfume Hater laughs. “If she’s not a demon…Amanda.”

“But she’s too old for you!” says Thirsten.

The Loudest Perfume Hater stares at him.

“I really think she’s who I was in love with. Not Lacey at all.” he says.

To clarify, “Not me at all?” asks Lacey.

“Not other than your beauty, grace and genuine glory. …But see…Amanda isn’t that glorious. She’s…a commoner I suspect. And…I think she’s wild. And I find that fascinating.” says Thirsten.

“Is that some sick insult?” Lacey asks Thirsten.

“I might not like women anymore.” The Loudest Perfume Hater says with cool reserve.

“Should you like women or is that a form of psychotic mental illness?” asks Lacey.

“You know…I’m a man. And for all you know…she’s in love with me!” says Thirsten.

“Does she look like The Loudest Perfume Hater in her face?” they ask Lacey.

“Yes! Very much so!” says Lacey.

“But she was a model?” asks a witch.

“Yes. Lots of slightly homely tall whores with shit issues become models and you know that you vile thing!” says Lacey humorously.

“See…I’m still Old Money from Maryland.” says Mr. Blue seriously to everyone to explain why Lacey’s a loser.

“Go on!” says Lacey.

“I’m an aristocrat. That’s why I’m fat. I eat too much. Probably because my mother didn’t love me. The foods compensate, somewhat. Gosh…I’m so poor. I could be a king. Like…a billionaire I guess. See…I have depression. And my allergies flare up in the spring. Why doesn’t Karrie buy a yacht? I won’t get seasick. That’s not kind to insinuate that. Batgirl III is…gone. Did the yacht take her? I’m Michael. Mmm…I’m loved.” he says.

“I knew you weren’t Amanda1960 but I can’t stand you.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater to Lacey.

“Does Amanda1960 look like Pam?” asks Mrs. Blue.

“Yes!! Very much so.” says Lacey. “More like a model though. The actress Jenna is mildly ugly.”

“That’s not very nice!” says Thirsten.

“It’s just objectively true though, I think.” says Lacey.

“Why do you hate me?” Lacey asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“You’re not going to like this. But Lord Thirsten Snotgrass and I have it all figured out.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Go on!” says Lacey.

“You’re a pleb?” scoffs Wobbly to answer their questions.

“No…you’re not going to like it!” says another perfume hater.

“Go on!” says Lacey.

“Okay! You’ll hate it but…we don’t like you.” says a perfume collector.

“What is it you hate?” asks Lacey.

“You’re too quiet. And…we never know what you’re talking about. And you scare us with your goodness. And you seem so creepily English. Like…this is America! And…in America we’re in charge.” say Lord Thirsten Snotgrass and The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Who helped you both say that?” asks Lacey.

“I’m not Lord Thirsten Snotgrass!” says Thirsten.

“But in America you are!” says Lacey sarcastically.

“You’re just so reserved.” says a perfume hater to Lacey. Even when you’re being friendly to get along with us.

“That’s coldness!” says a frenemy from her childhood who still stalks and hates her.


“Then I’m just a pleb compared to her.” says the frenemy. “I made the reserve coldness.”

“Do you have a lake cabin too?!” scoffs The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“We do not discuss such things.” says The Frenemy.

“Oh! I might know these people!” says Thirsten sarcastically.

“From where?” asks Lacey.

“My yacht on Lake Minnetonka.” he says.

“Nope. I doubt that would work.” says Lacey.

“Why not?! Don’t they all commune on Lake Minnetonka?” he asks.

“That’s a pretty thought.” says Lacey. “But no. Where’s your cabin?”

“I don’t have one.” he says.

“How does a supposed American serf have a degree from Oxford and an English aristocratic accent?” asks Benjamin Franklin.

“We attacked their minds.” says Lacey.

“We did not! We helped them!” says a dead President Ron R. to Louis.

“I went to school abroad. I didn’t cheat.” says Louis.