Once upon a time, in a geographical location not so far, far away, there dwelled a hairy beast with hairy legs, hairy arms, hairy chest, hairy nostrils, hairy face, and even a hairy back. Even such a beast’s hair was miraculously sprouting its very own hair! Hairy indeed, except for the beasts head of course, that once prominent head of hair had run it’s course, dwindling, sacrificing itself, one might say, to feed what seemed to be an ever necessitative mission of feeding an ever expanding crop, even where the sun did not shine in plentiful enough duration for germination to occur. Especially hairy were such a beast’s palms, so much so that his fortune could not be read, except for the self fulfilling prophecy that such a hairy beasts palms would indeed become hairier, and hairier, and hairier, though not for the fact that such palms were excessively used, in a fleeting attempt, to seven times daily, profusely apply Rogaine to said previously mentioned waning head, no, for you see, the beast thoroughly enjoyed whacking-off, hence the old bachelors tale: hairy palms. Besides, what is done in the privacy of one’s own bedroom, in what is supposed to be one’s place of refuge, stays in one’s own place of refuge, right? So “they” say! Whoever “they” are, and whoever “they” are supposedly saying it to, without actually moving their lips or ejecting anything audible in any fashion whatsoever to dispel a truth that had become their filthy and predatory lie. One might even say that receiving meaningless visual platitudes from “they” had become the cornerstones of such a hairy beast’s so called life. But so “they” meaninglessly dribbled those visual platitudes on more than one peeping-tom occasion, becoming a mindless blur of conglomerative visual platitude disgust syndrome rolling into one seething and never-ending nightmare. One might even call it a hardened shaft. Oh, how the beast was being fucked, and not by his own caressive hands. According to himself anyways, because “they” were always right, even when in the wrong. And how “they” were wrong – excessively and predatorily. But what of accountability for “they”? Hey, this is their fairytale. The beast did live in a dedicated objective reality, no matter the hairiness of his palms, and besides, he, like “they” had no ass to cover, because the beast was not a raging homosexual, nor even a minor poofter for that matter. But hey, this is “their” fairytale after all, so surely the fairies flit rampantly? Maybe we will find out. Yup, maybe we will. Okay, we definitely will confirm such violations of the beast, years of violation in fact.
Needless to say, all was not well in the beast’s objective reality, his extrasensory perception kept on telling him something, something sinister, decrepit, devious, dubious and disgusting. Something that the beast could do nothing about. Powerless to the enth degree was the beast against such unchecked power as “they.” And what about that beast’s extrasensory perception? Was it all of the beastly excessive hair standing on end, letting him know something was wrong? or could he just sense it telepathically, you know, like when one gets that awkward creep energy sensation, only to turn around and glance upon the glance that some ubiquitous fuck-face was busy sending unneeded vibes in one’s direction? Burning a hole in the back of one’s skull might call it. Well, such are the mysteries of the universe. Mysteries to some anyways, but not the beast, no, not to the beast, of whom was really not a beast, many just considered him a monster for telling the utmost truth, even of such a power as “they.” Could there be anything scarier than that, the utmost truth? Fairytales and the utmost truth, not really known for going hand in hand, however, dick in hand is one beast’s utmost truth and simultaneously a fairy-tale for “they” in the taking. That’s right, the not so beastly beast had unequivocally become convinced that a person, or worse yet, people were dastardly watching him pull his own pud, ramshackle his Rodney, juice his lemons, polish his knob, choke his chicken, free the genie, tumble his tallywhacker, spruce his goose, sit idly by and rev his own motor, tickle his fancy, chug-a-chug his locomotive, grip his whip, shoot for the ceiling, charm his cobra, figure his right angle to perpendicular delight, solo his bolo, light his own fire, pull his wire, achieve pole position. But how could such be? The electrical outlets in the beast’s bedroom were inserted with those plastic gizmos that ensure kiddies do not play operation with little metal prongs, there was nary a webcam in detectable site, the windows were blacked out, the thermostat had been overly scrutinized, as had anything else in such a soloist pleasure palace. Nope, what was happening was supposed to be between said beast’s hairy palms and himself, the Good Lord and his miraculous being for inventing and allowing such actions, and perhaps the witnessing by the beast’s ancestors. Trust me, they know what the beast is talking about! So how could it be? What peeping-tom fuckery haunted the beast so? Where could the beast turn(not as in angular orientation with dick in hand position, but for help to remedy such hideous perversion brought on by “they”)? Was it even true? I already told you, this is their fairy-tale and the beast’s objective reality. Fairies, always flitting about, creeping on the innocent beast. And as the old saying goes, the old saying that the beast fittingly, like his pecker in his hand, courteously made up: “Catch people watching you beat-off once, shame on them. Catch people watching you beat-off twice, shame on me. Know people had been watching you beat-off for years on end, and possibly wagering bets on the action, while denying that “they” as an entity were with eventual meaningless visual platitudes on display to attempt to cover-up “their” lie, shame on anybody who is unwilling to tell the truth on such a serious matter.” Well, maybe it is just a case of the bad one’s ruining it for the good one’s, but it is hard to believe such predatory peeping-tom actions of “they” could be unknown the further away from the anatomical assholes the problem crept from from such massive organizational entities. Yes, entities “they” be. And what of the beast and such sexual predation against him? Yeah, it has seriously fucked him up to this day. And rightly so. So the beast’s objective reality goes, far away from that fairy-tale “they” delighted in so much. Disgust and distrust, it seethed to the beast’s core.
One could just picture the reaction to such accusations: “Watching the beast whack-off in his own home, how absurd,” “they” are all doubly organizationally saying, to cover their fairy-tale asses of course. “Absurdity, no. Perversity, yes,” retorted the beast. For you see, some of those blatant creepy fucks who were engaging in such behaviour were absolutely stupid enough to give away their sexual exploitation of the beast. On more than one occasion they were insolent enough to admit it to the beast, but the beast will only go into the most blatant and harebrained idiocy to pervertedly percolate the beast’s universe via an insidious meaningful and telling charade of non-platitude. The beast will only tell of the one occasion because the words are growing long and the beast has other creeps and hypothesis to get on with. Oh yes they were, watching the beast whack off in his own supposed place of refuge! Watching him whack-off for years on end, possibly even more than the two aforementioned tax-payer funded entities were engaging in such behaviour, though the beast is not completely sure about that, but it is a possibility, a very real dark-web possibility. The beast is beginning to understand why such entities have gone right out of their way to hide any sort of truth from that hairy beast. Not a good sign, that hiding of the truth. It never is, and never will be. Ever. Period. Yes, the beast had suffered and is still suffering a mass exploitation at the hands of great entities. And one who thinks that one cannot be afforded protection while being exploited need only look at the pimp prostitute relationship. Though that being said, a pimp is always gracious enough to at least have conversations with his prostitutes. No, it was like said entities had claimed ownership of the beast. Not a good sign, that claiming of ownership. It never is, and never will be. Ever. Period.
Oh right, perverted creeps giving away the indisputable fact that the beast was and probably still is being watched in his own house, though perhaps the rule has been implemented that once that tallywhacker meets the beast’s hand, it’s peeping-tom machine off time, unless the supervisor is present of course (probably because he lets his fairy-tale underling suck him off while he watches the beast beat-off). Though there may appear to be comedic instances in this article of a very serious matter, this article is no fucking joke or satire. This is the beast’s so called life and part of the exploitation he has put up with for years. It ain’t fucking funny in the least. Sexual exploitation is no fucking joke, especially when committed by an entity of which one is completely helpless to do anything at all about. Just last Saturday night, the beast’s ESP went off the charts, though it was just his toothbrush in his hands, not his prick, so the beast had to hit the creeps with some of the medicine that made said perverted creep-scum unleash the stimuli that unquestionably admitted that “they” were indeed watching the beast whack-off in his own bedroom in what was supposed to be his place of refuge, but had become a conduit for, the beast knows not exactly how far the slime trails led. And said stimuli that I am going to mention that gave away “they” the sexual predators came around two years after the beast received definite affirmation that the beast was being watched as he would solo his bolo in the not so privacy of “their” freak-show to satiate raving lunatics and sexual predators on tax-payer funding. I said it once, and twice, and on and on and on, the beast was being watched in his own house by many people as he whacked-off and there was not a goddamn fucking thing the beast could, or for that matter, can do about it. It has fucked the beast up to this very fucking day. and rightly so. And not even crickets chirp. What a travesty. Maybe suicide is the answer? The beast has zero problem being dead, however the beast has a serious problem with being exploited, especially sexually exploited, as death is a natural thing that everyone will one day be doing, however, exploitation is not a natural phenomenon, it is the act of fucking low-life creeps. In my case, creeps abusing their unchecked power. A bad recipe that is, unchecked power and low-life creep continuity.
But what gave those sexual predators away again, close to two years after the beast had confirmation that “they” were indeed watching him masturbate in his bedroom y’all all are wondering? Well, let me speak for the beast and let you know: for you see, on a few occasions (the beast told me) that when his ESP was heightened, while ramshackling his Rodney, the beast had a decent but not definitive sense of where the sexual predators were watching him from, so the beast was sure to give them a big ‘fuck you’ by showing them the middle finger, then waving it in a few directions in case his hunch of such sexual predation was not a compass clarity event. And wouldn’t y’all know it, but one morning after having given the creep-show bad actors the middle finger while doing my duty the previous night before bed, after leaving my house to go and do something the next morning, “they,” the ignorant-fuck cowards had left me one of those life size or bigger, wooden articulated finger joint hands for me to see all proudly perched up in their blatant stupidity, of which three fingers and the thumb were curled down and that long middle finger standing straight up, for the beast to see as the beast went on his way to go do what he had to do. Dumb-fucks that they were, and still are no doubt. And that was the third occasion when the definitive stimuli came to the beast, years after the first stimuli came to the beast that “they” were indeed watching the beast pleasure himself in his own house. That is years people, fucking years. Let me say that again, fucking years! This ain’t no fucking joke. Sexual exploitation never is. It has fucked the beast up to this very day. And rightly so. Who is one supposed to call for help? Space aliens with ray-guns?
Needless to say, lately, “they” have been overbearingly adamant that the beast drag a lady-friend into his no-escape confinement of “their” freak-show for perverted amusement purposes ownership over the beast. Yup, “their” meaningless visual platitudes encompass more than one course of action for those able to decipher such appearances. And definitively one could surely only deductively reason from such suggestions, that if the beast was being watched in his own bedroom for years as he masturbated, and very well may be to this very day, that no doubt there is a sinister reason as to why “they” would repeatedly suggest to the beast that he should indeed invite a lady into what is undoubtedly a life of mass exploitation – it is because those sick fucks probably want to watch the beast have sexual relations with a woman while he is inside his own fucking home, no? Or at least attempt to catch the act on cellular phone seat-sniffing they are so versed in? Surely any decent logic would confirm that because the beast was indeed being watched in his own bedroom while whacking-off, for years on end, and the non-verbal meaningless visual platitudes of “they” denying that such was ever happening only been broadcast to the beast for a few months, then surely many years of sexual predation on “their” behalf could surely only outweigh, by many magnitudes, the non-confirmable lie of “them” claiming, without actually vocally admitting that they are not in fact still watching the beast beat-off in what is supposed to be his place of refuge. Hey, it’s their fairy-tale and the beast’s objective reality. A confirmable conundrum and a goddamn mind-fuck, No? Such past and possibly current sexual predation has fucked the beast up to this very day. And rightly so.
Yeah, the beast knows a thing or two about predation, and not just overwhelming sexual predation. The beast knows about creepy cyber-stalkers – way, way too much about creepy cyberstalkers. For you see, since ENDPOLITICIANS.COM has been up and running…..(Oh shit, I guess now the secret is out as to who the “beast” really is. sorry it took y’all twenty-four hundred or so words to figure that out)…..all kinds of creeps have been violating my life. Oh, how the creeps violate indeed. Years of violation for the beast, as the beast just wanted to live and let live in non-creep harmony with a just universe. Though to be fair, again, it is the far, far fewer in numbers bad ones that ruin it for the good ones that patiently await articles, and perform “their” organizational duties with extreme dedication, honesty, integrity, decency, and all around zeal for being outright good people not deserving to be mentioned in the same breath as the despicable creeps who so creep in every facet of societal dispersement.
And those creeps, they seem to be quite good at hiding such creepery as they go all “secret” dark-web into a pathetic “mystery” persona to prey upon others and engage in antisocial and abhorrent behaviour of which is their true identity but is hidden daily to fool those around them with their bottled-up defunctness as they prey upon others, certainly because they are not content with who they are. No, who knows who the next creep to be outed will be. One could work with a creep, be friends with a creep, have sexual relations with a creep, and on and on and on until that one day they may find out, or never do. Who knows, it could be a doctor, lawyer, mailman, blogger, businessman, certainly a politician, maybe some El Jeffe on a Vancouver morning radio program, one never really knows who that next creep may turn out to be. That being said, one of the favourite articles that the beast ever wrote was that of The Greatest Reward, for you see, such an article was instrumental in the field of dark-web creep detecting abilities, as it outed many a creep, many a creeps who creeped upon the beast in pretentious predator patheticness. Yup, I still remember, after having published The Greatest Reward article on that Wednesday evening, the following Thursday and Friday, that El Jeffe came up with a sudden and mysterious illness that made said persona miss work until the following Monday, kind of like perhaps one had become uncontrollably paralyzed with fear-sickness after coming to the realization that they were cornered in the netophile dark-web creep corral, where their Permanent Record might now include cyber-stalking helpless beasts that are closer to Cheeze-Whiz as opposed to a computer-whiz; who knows, perhaps the beast and his solo on bolo sexual exploitations really were a dark-web reality of participatory wager capture? Certainly the beast will never know, because the powers have gone out of their way to hide the entirety of the past years of truth from the beast himself.
Anyways, to all those unwanted creeps out there, my advice is this: Oh’kneel before a higher power, the first step is admitting that one indeed has a problem. After having completed step one, anything is a possibility. Who knows, maybe a fine and outstanding member of society is in order for those able to deconstruct and then rebuild into something that one is not pretending to be at the moment – a decent person.