Murder

Lacey needs Lem. The Illuminati doesn’t even understand that Lem is Lem. They’re…so lost.

…Seemingly…in the summer of 2008 Lem decided he wanted to kill Lacey.

Yes. Murder her.

Why?

On a balmy night in July Lacey got “dressed-up” and went out dancing with her friends. She looked…gorgeous.

A very handsome young man made his way across a crowded dance floor to hit on her. When she declined making out with him…he assumed she was already taken and desperately trying to be faithful. She was far from taken.

And Lem seeing it all…wasn’t devastated for Lacey by people’s inability to understand their role…in reality…but by the fact that she was being lusted after. The way men stared at her…caused him excruciating pain.

What devastated Lacey was the way she was treated, not by her friends that night…as they knew she was the most good-looking in their group by far and yet celebrated their own separate, individual sexuality and sexiness as well. But rather by the young man who hit on her.

Lacey was far from taken. If she’d had a boyfriend she would never have even been out that night. It was enraging to not be respected as the immaculate-attempt at being a married woman that she is. Hot sex?? Of course. Slutty depravity and near uselessness? No.

That’s what bothered Lacey. Lacey thinks people less attractive than her need to genuinely just get over it and quit being so weak and stupid. She sympathy for them to a point. And then she thinks they’re vile, tragic, and repulsive.

In Heaven people are all themselves but at their peak. Their absolute best. Hot…as…Heaven. Glorious.

Our imperfect fallen state is temporary. Get over it already!! *eye roll*

“But see I would expect someone like that to feel bad for me?” says a Hispanic man.

“I do. To a point.” says Lacey. “Then you need to move on.”

“But…until death we are stuck like this.” he says.

Lacey sighs. “You can’t just get over it?”

“Can you get over never being loved?” he asks.

“That’s far worse. You do realize that?” says Lacey with determined, elegant stoicism.

He refuses to be honest.

“Come on! Get a grip! That’s far worse. …You do realize that?” asks Lacey.

“Yes.” he says smiling.

“Yes!! Almost.” says Lacey.

“How do you live?” he asks.

“In constant excruciating pain. Always. I’ve been looking forward to death since I was three. …And sweetie…no one loves me…so no one gives a shit.” says Lacey. “You get used to eating a constant diet of other people’s shit.” She sighs. “It’s deadly…but…I’m lucky to be old money…and I’m lucky to be extremely tough.” She thinks. “And of course God. But that goes without saying. Not everyone who worships God is tough or old money.”

“Al Franken repulses you?” he asks.

“He seems homicidal in regard to me and I can’t figure out why.” says Lacey. “Of course that’s repulsive.” She thinks. “It’s totally unjust.”

He grows quiet. He has more love or friendship to give.

That’s how Becca was too. She knew Lacey wasn’t lying. And she hated her old money extreme beauty and moral fortitude? And so the one best friend Lacey thought she had…ghosted Lacey. After the birth of Lacey’s first child. Becca was nothing more than a bitter, self-obsessed, hateful, jealous, violent bitch to Lacey just as Lacey’s heart could have literally stopped beating? She was disgusting. A perverse leech?

Now Becca has two children of her own and a husband. Lacey hopes they aren’t suffering. Lacey hopes Becca has enough energy to give a shit about her family until she dies. Lacey thinks Becca could be a psychopath…and if she is…her death is inevitable if she ever reads this and doesn’t laugh, slap herself in the face and then bow to Christ like an obedient peasant until her last breath.

“Honor God.” says Lacey as a kind directive.

“I thought she was jealous of me.” says Allyson.

Lacey ties a woman who narcissistically killed two people in a car crash up in her head and didn’t care. She ties her to a wall. She smashes her face into the wall behind her.

She applies pressure to her skull.

“Do you understand at all what you did?!” yells Lacey brutally.

The woman struggles to speak. Lacey smashes her head into the wall again.

“Where is this?!” asks a dumb as Hell American police officer.

“Scotland!” says Lacey. “In my basement.”

“So not in the US?” asks the police officer.

“Gee. Is old Scotland in the US?” asks Lacey.

“No!” says a different white police officer. “We should be paid more.” he says.

“Yes!! You should. It’s a crime.” says Lacey.

“I’m sorry you’re not in Scotland.” he says.

“There was still evil there. Obviously. But…women like her didn’t go to death confused.” says Lacey.

She turns back to the woman. “Do you understand what you did?” asks Lacey.

“I killed people?” she says.

“Yes!!! Worship Christ and ask him to forgive you of your sins!” yells Lacey.

She murmurs something to Christ and asks for forgiveness.

“Very good!” says Lacey. Then she stabs her with a razor sharp dagger in her skull as her eyes are closed. The woman is unconscious. Soon she dies.

The idea was to kill her before she could sin again. As a factual, TOTALLY PROVEN psychopathic, likely lifelong murder Lacey euthanized her. She euthanized her before Satan could steal her soul to Hell by tempting her to more mortal sin in a state of unrepentance.

“And then you ask Christ for your own redemption?” asks a curious police officer of Lacey.

“Yes! It’s a worthwhile risk to keep her off the streets, so to speak.” says Lacey.

“So in your mind in old Scotland they did that?” asks the first police officer.

“I think they might have.” says Lacey.

“So people felt that there was a silent overlord protecting them.” he says.

“Yes! I suspect so.” says Lacey.

“I doubt Americans have that same sense of security.” he says.

“They almost do. And in a way it’s better. The police are a group effort. Methodically over time.” says Lacey.

“Yes!” says the second police officer.

“But…you’d get some righteous satisfaction out of cutting to the chase, so to speak.” says Lacey. “I’d bet.”

“We do that at times too and then get in trouble for it.” says a police officer.

“Not every time?” says Lacey.

“Nah! You all do a lot more shooting than we hear about.” says a black man. “I agree with Lacey on this point. Or rather, I support her hypothesis with evidence.”

“We make mistakes at times.” says a police officer.

“Yes! That’s human.” says Lacey.

“Which do you think is better?” asks the second police officer.

“I used to like the US. But after being attacked by the Illuminati I now prefer Scotland.” says Lacey.

“Then you lose and we get to torture you!” says the vicious, evil peasant first police officer.

“I thought she’d be fucking me by now. She’s mid!” says Wobbly in genuine fear.

“She’s not mid.” says Cheryl.

“Cheryl, you don’t really think that.” says Michael Rockefeller.

“Yeah! Isn’t that son up there mid?” asks a butch, husky Hispanic woman who’s very mid in reality.

“No. She’s not mid!” yells a mid American black woman.

“Why you be hating the truth?!” yells the mid Hispanic woman. “I got a hot face. And look at my ass!”

“It don’t look like hers.” says the black woman.

The mid Hispanic woman smirks. “I think you are joking.” she says seriously.

“No. Bitch. No.” says the black woman. “What in the world makes you think you’re her equal?”

“I’m far better?!” says the Hispanic woman smiling, mindlessly. She’s being serious.

“No. You’re ugly compared to Lacey.” says the first police officer.

The Hispanic woman looks genuinely confused.

“No. You’re her inferior.” says the black woman.

“That’s not mathematically possible!!” says the Hispanic woman.

“Use your eyes!” says the black woman.

“I don’t want to look.” says the Hispanic woman.

“I looked!” says the black woman.

“Fine! Then we’re shit!” says the Hispanic woman crying.

“I’m not shit!” says the black woman correctly.

“Yes!! You are!” yells the Hispanic woman.

The black woman’s mildly handsome, sweet husband takes her place. He’s at least average to above average intelligence. He’s fairly well dressed. He looks like a catch. And he clearly loves her.

The Hispanic woman looks BAFFLED.

She almost has a seizure she’s so…confused.

“What is that?!?” the Hispanic asks falling to ground. She’s crawls. She’s waiting for an earthquake?

“But how did you…get a man who’s not evil or gay? He’s…so…fuckable too!” says the Hispanic woman rolling around on the ground afraid she’s going to blow-up. She’s wondering if it’s an apocalypse.

“That woman doesn’t want me.” says the black husband about Lacey. “She’s hot. So am I. But we don’t want each other. Not really.” he says with sorely missed intelligence and mental acuity.

“Where did all of you sane people go?! Did the They in the Illuminati kill you off? For real.” says Lacey.

Silence.

It’s unclear but it’s possible the Illuminati has been killing off smart middle class people for years. Lacey isn’t sure who it was.

She doubts it was the old money. From her perspective the middle class is friends with real old money.

She could be wrong?

She worries it was new money…and the bourgeois. …People like Wobbly? Yes or no?

More later.

Turns out Lem decided he wanted to kill Lacey because he didn’t want her to be with anyone but him. He couldn’t stand it. He never would’ve actually done it but that’s what he wanted to do.

If he was straight, and yet never made love to a woman that certainly did not help. It was just a feeling of absolute betrayal when she would date someone else because he couldn’t understand for a while, at least, and still struggles to understand what that is like psychologically. Of course, he fails to recognize how fully betrayed she feels by him although he’s starting to grasp it, at least.

But it’s against that backdrop of him, actually being in love with her since she was about 15 and then painfully watching her father with Joe, and then painfully watching her fall in love with living men, but the entire Illuminati shit show has occurred. And what they still struggle to grasp is that he very well may have just been straight and molested and as handsome as Jack was, Lem really wasn’t actually attracted to him at all.

“So what about all those rumors of you sucking his cock in showers and shit like that?!?” yells a self-righteous gay man at Lem.

“First of all those are rumors and there’s no evidence that they actually ever happened. Because people have lied so much people cling to rumors like they are objective truth because they’re looking for some sort of explanation and I understand that…but that’s where you need to back-off because I’m actually Lem and I’m trying to tell you what really happened.

I may have sucked his penis in a shower that may have actually happened. But it wasn’t the way that people say that it was and that’s the problem. First of all his penis was nothing to write home about and that actually does matter historically speaking, if we’re talking about sex objectively. So get it out of your head that it was the hottest super hot sex scene. I mean unless if you think he looked, you know incredibly hot when he was about 15? People’s estimation of what happened is absurd. He was above average looking, but he was also kind of scrawny and he was an annoying bitch…and he really didn’t have a great dick, that’s reality. His mother put a lot of effort into their appearance, but when you take your clothes off, your mother can’t fix what’s wrong with you, and he really did have a very scrawny-ugly body. She couldn’t dress him when he was naked to make him look hot. He had nice eyes. But that’s about it! With his clothes off his hair wasn’t as appealing anymore. And he was too ‘unselfconscious’ to realize he was obviously objectively scrawny-ugly. It was actually kind of annoying and obnoxious…to say the least.

He aged fine. But it wasn’t a very masculine frame even then. It was…scrawny.

I might not have ever sucked his cock in a shower or bathtub. But…if I did…I was trying to be gay.” says Lem. “It was unsuccessful.”

“How did he not realize that?!?” asks a straight man.

“He was inexperienced and vain as a peacock.” says Lem. “I gagged repeatedly. I hated giving anyone head. I was and am straight. But…I tried it.”

“So you were truly just that eccentric and artistic?!?” asks a living man.

“Lacey would say so. I don’t want to flatter myself.” says Lem. “I’m not an idiot. But…it wasn’t exactly an intelligent response.”

“What was that like acting gay?!” asks a truly straight man.

“It was…hilarious in a way. Unspeakably vile in another way.” says Lem.

“Did you enjoy it at all?!” asks a bisexual man.

“Yeah!!! He did!!!” yells Jack, interrupting.

“No! I hated myself and life. But men loved it. And I enjoyed their affection. Just as a friend. Until I realized it was entirely fake. I gagged my way through it…and vomited afterwards on several occasions. But…’That’s life!’ I thought.” says Lem.

“So you threw-up after swallowing cum?” asks Sarah Jessica Parker.

“Yup! On several occasions. It was-“ Lem almost cries. “It was traumatizing. But…I think I’m crying for other reasons. …I-just couldn’t stand the thought of it being in my body. And what I had just done.” says Lem. “But as I’ve said, before, I reasoned through that to think that I was just like a woman and that influence me to talk like a woman because I thought that I was somewhat effeminate. I didn’t think women liked sex.” says Lem.

“So why were you crying?” asks Kim Cattrall.

“Because Lacey has done the same thing on several occasions and has had a very different reaction.” says Lem. “And there are other reasons as well related to her.”

“You mean she’s given oral sex in a shower to a man?” asks Chris Noth.

“Yes, on several occasions.” says Lem.

“But there’s evidence that it was hot. Lame isn’t there evidence?!?” says a group of gay men.

“There might be in some people’s imagination, but that’s a misreading of reality, and they were never there, and I think people assume that I was madly in love with him, and that he was really hot naked. I was not madly in love with him and he was not hot naked, and in reality, I wasn’t even gay at all. I was completely straight.

But I think if you read our words to each other on the wrong premise or you misread our physical body language based on the wrong premise then you might assume that there was something hot and sexy going on between us. Some sort of hot sexual banter that made its way into the bedroom. But the problem is, that’s a reading of what happened that’s an interpretation of what happened. But that’s not necessarily what actually happened and what actually happened is that I was repulsed by him. I wasn’t gay at all. I was repulsed by him. He annoyed the fuck out of me. He was ugly naked. I wasn’t in love with him.

I wasn’t sad at his wedding. At least not in the right way if you’re going to claim that I was in love with him.

I was sad, but it had nothing to do with jealousy or hurt feelings, jealousy in the sense that I wanted to be married to a woman myself but not jealousy of the fact that Jackie got to be with him.

I wasn’t really actually gay. And yet you all think that if he was wealthy enough and used his magic, blue eyed charm that he’d suddenly have a chest, abs, legs a butt, and strong arms? Smaller bones? He was so bony. …No. Our eyes matter but they don’t make up for everything.” says Lem.

“Why don’t men realize that penis size actually matters. It’s not a myth. It’s nothing to lose sleep over. But it’s reality.” says Lacey. “Beauty matters too. Possibly in a similar way?”

More later.

Never-mind.