Sunday morning. I used to love Sunday mornings. It was a day to relax. A day not to worry about anything. To read the newspaper, especially the magazine and comic sections. It was a day to have a really good breakfast. On Sundays calories didn’t count. I could have anything I felt like eating. I could have bacon, donuts, eggs, french toast, big glass of juice, and drink as much coffee as I felt like drinking. It was a day to do absolutely nothing and luxuriate in not getting dressed.
I haven’t had a normal Sunday in years. I’m always taking care of some problem, or trying to get my computer into working shape.
This morning, for instance, I spent two hours plus trying to fix my computer. Of course, it’s still not working right. And the idiot that is working as a hacker today has already deleted what I’ve typed.
I imagine it’s a man who is doing the hacking. I know women do hacking, too, but most of the hackers are men.
I’d to take my foot and put it right where it hurts the idiot, and I would do it over and over until he would be yelling at me to stop. And I don’t care if they write me up for writing this. I can just see them now saying that I’m going to beat someone up.
What they do to us is torture, and they’re going to complain about being hit in a certain spot! Aren’t they all such girls?
I bet they wouldn’t be able to handle what we targets have to put up with every day. They’d probably be crying about how everything hurts. They’d probably have to call their mommies “Mommy, some nasty woman hurt me. Mommy, she really hurt me. Oh, poor thing. My heart breaks for all of them.
They act as if they’re so strong. So in command of their lives. Sure, they are. If they were in command of their lives, they’d have a soul and act like human beings. But they’re not humans. I don’t know what to call these things that walk around on two feet and are supposed to be human. Human, they’re not. It is an alien thing that tortures human beings for absolutely no reason at all.
I miss my Sundays and want them back. Sundays are for relaxing, not for fighting a war.
Contact info: http://neverending1.WordPress.com
The gangstalkers created the Internet, they don’t need to hack, they are the programmers who made the programs. They’re just playing with you. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvMp8kn1sj0
Well, they should go play with someone else. I’m not their type.
Well, they’re not my type. Why don’t they go harass someone else? By the way, I went to the video, there’s nothing in it I don’t know. Thank you, anyway.
So here’s the latest: being broadcast 24-7 is one thing. Truman show basically, but now perps make comments which make it soy d like something has taken place which actually did not. They’re trying to make it appear that they are just ordinary people who crossed my path when in reality, everything is staged, and nothing is as it appears. They can say anything or react in a way to make it sound like I’ve done something, so all the other perps have something to harass me over.
Are you live, neverending? Do you have perps as friends on Facebook? Do you have any contact with anyone who isn’t a perp?
Sound. Sorry. 🙂
I have no friends, period. No family, either. Everyone I knew, or get to know, turns out to be a perp. You can’t really trust anyone. Did you ever read my blog on Street Theater? It explains what they do.
Yeah. I’ve experienced street theater quite a bit. I keep finding out that more and more of the people I thought were friends were not, or they aren’t anymore. I’m in the same boat.
Isn’t it disappointing to know that people you thought knew you could do what they’re doing to you?
Used to be, Saturdays were my day. When I was about 19, I was living away from home awhile and worked. (I finally moved away for good at 26). Saturday was my day off. I still had a car. I got up late and went to the Big Boy and had the breakfast buffet and relaxed, alone. No one bothered me. Back then I even had a few friends. “Eating in” at a restaurant is almost torture now.
Yeah, plus you don’t know what they’re going to do to your food.
Ate at local fast food restaurant and had the trots recently. Unless I’m constipated I will not go there again.