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P!apoose D Planetarium

A Planet P!apoosed

written by Dizzy Ovadhere

Introduction - Truth Chapter

Everything I write from this point forward in this chapter is the absolute truth without any stealthy omissions or double entendres (though there’ll be plenty of those) to obscure the honest intent. Every word quoted was really spoken. Every description, every details, every time I myself couldn’t believe it was happening, but sure as I’m alive today there must be a God, without any doubt, I will prove to you that God does exist. And aside from that, even when I died those times, which was also proof when I came back, but the question you should be asking is how is he still alive? And my answer is faith.
Now if you’ll kindly flip to the next page, which is the next chapter, we can begin our little adventure I like to call Goblin’s Cup.
I should warn you that you will be in for some disappointment ( for some, because I’m still alive), because I never even came close to retrieving the sought after chállis a gòblin, but I actually got so much further away then when I even started the contest, that God had to step in and prevent my enemies from imprisoning me with incredible acts of natural disasters. But we’ll get to that later.
On a side note, and before I forget, there’s a group of a few hundred or even a few thousand individuals in the town of Bayonne who have made a hunting sport out of stalking a human prey with the champion being declared by virtue of my death. Collectively, they use cell phone blocking devices, cellular receivers that can intercept phone calls and reroute them before they reach their intended audience, emp disrupters, microphones and micro video cameras hidden throughout my property, gps trackers, poisonous gases, chemical warfare, and the list goes on, all in the interest of trying to kill me without anybody but myself getting blamed. The chemicals hanging in the garage were so strong that the fumes leaking out the garage door peeled the wood strips off where they were holding the front windows in place and turned them into crumbling twigs. Those fumes were so potent in the house that even in the dead of winter when temperatures were so cold you could barely stay warm with the heat blasting (that, and they purposely prevented me from having heat) the nazi Hunter in the next room over still kept a fan blowing towards the open window in his room on a 24/7 basis.
See, part of the torture was convincing me I was in a normal living situation and not “the death box” created to turn successful businessmen into suicides in under a year.
When I moved in I was making about $2,800 a week after taxes working as a consultant at Deloitte. The plan was to move further away from the city because I work from home anyway, so why not save up and get myself a Ferrari?
Well let me tell you why not! About a week after I moved in and was using the household wifi, I started noticing emails disappearing off my account and the rate of incoming emails slowing down from one every minute or two to one every hour or more. All of a sudden my inbox went from 1,200 emails a day to 6 or 7 emails a day. And the ones I received were nonsense from things I wasn’t even subscribed to. I immediately realized I was in trouble, but I had no help. No support structure. No protection. Just me and God. But let me tell you, when God is on your side, you don’t need anything or anybody else.
Having God in your corner is like being inducted into the coolest fraternal order, getting invites to all the hottest, underground secret parties, never having to work, or eat, or even poop. None of that. Its all the human condition.
But with God, all that disappears. Suddenly, even food is just a distraction from clarity of consciousness. I have God on my side, and with that, I challenge the whole world, all 7 billion, to dare oppose me.
And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, with evil on all sides just waiting for the slightest slip to invite their assaults, I shall fear no evil. For though art with me.
Back to the torture; so Hunter was a Nazi straight from the midwest, recruited to be a soldier in the Bayonne Nazi militia they have growing over there with dreams of world domination and the technology to disrupt globally when the time comes.
I still to this day believe that all postal mail-initiated identity theft can be rooted back to a person living in Bayonne. That’s how every citizen there makes a living. My landlord Evan was receiving mail on behalf of every person who ever even stayed over more than two nights in a row. When I went to throw away the stockpile of mail that collected, which was otherwise just old and useless, he stopped and said, “No, I need them.”
My jaw just drops open and I stared him in the eyes. The horror of renting from an identity thief just became a reality. But who would believe me without any proof? He let’s out a mischievous grin decidely a confession of sorts and then punches me in the chest in an effort to conquer the conversation with manipulative redirection tactics. I brush off his hit as I would a girl giving me a love tap when I made her laugh. Now let’s see if he’s really guilty.
I swing lightning quick, but without the intention of landing a blow against him. He raises his arms in a defensive block, but not cute and innocent like a playful friend, but rather fast and protective like a criminal who just got found and still thinks he can escape capture. I shake my head. He plays psychological verbal warfare with me and I am no match for his skilled craft of forcing my fight or flight reaction into overdrive with nonsensical statements.
Let me give you an example, which in turn is why you failed at floating under the river like your mom said you would.
Where’d you just go? Oh, you’re back now? Okay, well, the trick works a lot better when spoken to an unsuspecting victim. My example is mere child’s play. Amateur at best. I have no interest in learning the craft of mental deception and psychopathic word play to torture my fellow countrymen. I think people who do that to others are impotent cowards who don’t have the strength to stand alone on their own merits and feel fulfilled. They lack self-love. They lack inner light. They lack heart. But most of all, they lack personality. That’s truly the worst. When all you do is manipulate people to win conversations, sure okay I lost that round, but I didn’t enjoy talking to you and you have nothing of value to speak of besides how to manipulate, which you keep a secret, so again, nothing to add to the conversation. It’s like putting an onion and 4 apples together in a basket and telling a child to pick one. There’s no mathematical odds of picking the onion. No child would ever pick the onion. Talking to a psychopathic manipulator is like picking the onion.
“Why didn’t I choose the sweet apple?!” I scream as I wake out of a nightmare and continue writing my tale of how God and the devil made a deal, and now they’re both after me. We’ll get to that.
So I’m paying Mr Onion money to stay in his dilapidated house with no heat, poisoned water, redirected pipes in the basement that funnel water from the neighbor’s basement, gas fumes tearing at the lining of my lungs, and burning my eyes, cold air in the winter and hot poisons all year round, email and online presence completely compromised and no longer in my possession. I still don’t have access to my [email protected] email address. If anyone is communicating with or receiving communications from that email address, just know that you’re most likely an accessory to an identity theft crime by not reporting it. Don’t worry, the police are neither for nor against God in general, so they have no interest in the paperwork for such a crime.
Speaking of which, I contacted every single law enforcement agency out there to try and file a report while my brain was all scattered from being manipulated that nobody was willing to give me even five minutes to sit down and let me explain how my life has been stolen from me.
So, back to the beginning. When I moved to Bayonne, it was right after my boss told me she would be extending my contract an additional six months. I did the math, and living in cheap, broke ass Bayonne would save me enough for a Ferrari. So I moved.
Two weeks later, my contract was ended without explanation and I was given until the end of the week to finish my assignment. I decided that was no coincidence. I found evidence someone had been hacking my emails via my mobile phone, so I started taking screenshots of what I found and saving them to Google drive. Thats when my phone seized control from me, went through each picture I screenshotted, deleting each one, then factory reset itself, erasing all my saved passwords and accounts to websites I still can’t remember the names of at lost maybe 4 or 5 gmail accounts and had to salvage whet I could, but they stole two brand new Google Pixies from me right when they first came out a few days after i got them. One after another.
You see, whenever I got a new phone, everything worked fine and nobody had access to any of my personal information. Then they turned on the gas, i fell asleep, or unconscious whatever, and they would swap out the guts of my device with some sort of unix or linux based transmission system that basically hardwired me to their call center only, no matter who I called. When I called my parents, the line took extra long to connect me because they couldn’t mimic that, so they had to put the call through. Otherwise, all my calls were being intercepted and rerouted without warrants or court orders permitting them, and believe me it was intended to be used against me in a court of law by the police who were in on the scheme.
The air conditioner to my room had so much black mold in it that there was no way it was blowing out cold air, meanwhile, it was nailed down into my window, had a gas tank sticking out the back of it, and a metal hose coming out the front where I assume the cold air from the gas tank was being propelled out into my bedroom. Probably just to make me dumber and light headed so any authority figure would automatically assume i get high after talking to me for a few minutes.
The only phone calls I would get would be from my all of a sudden new “best friends” of Bayonne clearly requesting I sell them illegal substances on my cell phone both verbally and written. I wasn’t going for it. Why are you asking me? Do I even know you? What makes you think you’ll get good shit from me? What makes you think I wouldnt get offended by that request? Then again, I did lose my job and my friends in queens give me great prices, so I could use the money. Wait, duh, I’m being set up. Jeez I’m so stupid! Like I just moved into this shitbox Bayonne and all of a sudden strangers are trusting me to get them high. Give me a break. Theyre stories were more deranged each time we talked. One guy sold me some molly, this guy named (circle back) John G, that was his name (allegedly) and was announcing it in the middle of the street in broad daylight like the people within ear shot didn’t matter if they heard him. He’s yelling gram this and buy that and get the money, the guys waiting, drugs again, molly for sale, whatever he felt like with complete disregard. Needless to say, my bank refused to let me withdraw money, even from the ATM. Whatever John did sell me he later came over with his girlfriend, went in my bedroom, found it and stole it back from me plus he took my $700 samsung edge with him as well.
Thats why i got an iphone. I dont care who you know or what search you can perform, Apple is simply better. Hacker-proof. They never did anything so bad to anybody to start a chain of events that have led to what we now must confront with antivirus and other protections. Apple never let that seed get planted while nourishing the good healthy seeds, so they grew to dominate the market with silent excellence; which in my opinion, is the best form of excellence. The one you never see coming. Like a freight train packed into a Mazda. Who knew he had weapons that were chosen for their magnificence with aim so potent despite my broken ligaments? If you think I’m joking, then stop all that ignorance, I was hunted by Nazis, but I survived without coincidence.
They’ll eventually give up and pursue someone else who moves into that “death box” of a house where they even have someone live in that room first so when it becomes available for only $50 more and its double the size, you have to jump on the chance, right? I mean, it’s not like the lock on the door doesn’t work and if i change it then you quickly change it back and just switch the keys on my keyring while I’m sleeping and it’s secretly a death trap where you guys are going to play psychological games like dimming the lights to disorient me, right?
Oh shit, wait, it is like that? And you’re going to steal all my possessions slowly over time so I think I just lost them. Meanwhile, I catch the neighbor’s kid wearing my jacket talking about it got mixed up in the wash. Yeah, I dry clean my jackets weirdo. Did it get mixed up at the dry cleaners maybe? No right? Chris K is just a lowly thief and he’s raising his 5 year old daughter to steal from her neighbors undetected while their out smoking cigarettes in the front of the house. I’d like my painting back thief. Then a fair one if you’re up for it fat boy.
But wait, I haven’t even gotten close to the good part. That was just the introduction. I left out tons of stuff like how they hunted me through the streets, preventing me from calling for help, or tried to raid my house but God intervened, or how the sidewalk was lined with little baggies of coke and mollie as far as the eye could see but I refused to bend down to even tie my shoe lest a picture get snapped of me reaching near their drugs. Bunch of identity thieves and drug dealers. I dated this one girl Sam (talk about trash) who’s mom apparently is the queen coke dealer to all the heavy users in Bayonne. She bragged about how she left home at 17 because she was tired of living with her drug dealing mom. I think her step dad ended up marrying her sister if that’s not too confusing. So the mom got too old and he Woody Allened her ass for her daughter.
Sam’s got some weird sec fetish that makes her terrible in bed. It’s literally like fucking a slinky would be more fun even if your skin gets caught between the metal strips.
The property along my house was marked by two sticks with flags on them on either side of the sidewalk about two houses down from my house death box. These flags were warnings that certain rules must be followed when walking inside this zone to ensure the camera will know its me or not me. For example, when leaving out the front, use the back door, and when leaving out the back, use the front door. Thats a rule that all my housemates followed to the tee.

Then there were the knocking codes. These were the codes to turn off the gas temporarily because the person needed to walk through the hallway to their “room” and needed the poison vents closed temporarily so they wouldn’t breathe in the toxins. Meanwhile, all I was breathing was toxins. If i had to guess, id say I’ll probably develop some cancer or deadly disease in the next couple of years as the damage takes its toll. Those bags hanging from the ceiling though. So strong that touching the chemical with my fingers then touching my neck left me with a burn mark on my neck.
They also had knock codes for entering the house. You would first have to go in the backyard and knock on the window to the secret video showroom lounge in the basement, btw its 373 E but they probably moved operations by now unless they’re total idiots.
Once someone in the lounge responded back with a single knock, you would knock again, and then wait in the backyard for someone to open the sidedoor. I only know because i was in the backyard one time and someone literally had to push their hand through two feet of window treatment and cobwebs to knock on the wooden board sealing any light from exiting their night chamber.
Okay, we’ll get to all that. Unfortunately, with the exception of my good friends John G and Evan and chris K, I aint no fucken rat. Those three scumbags tried to kill me so behind bars is a safe place for them as far as I’m concerned. Other than that, the rest of the story gets obscured with levels of fiction blended into them so unpredictably wildly, who knows what the truth is? I certainly don’t. And I wrote it. Truth is, you’ll never know which parts of the next stories are real, but I’ll say this, I found God and believe half of what you read and you’ll be 75% less mistaken than someone who believes 25% of what they read themselves when skipping chapters.
That’s another thing. You dont want to skip chapters or read ahead, read behind, only read certain pages. It won’t make a drop of sense to you unless you follow my exact instructions. And those instructions are simple. Let me do all the work putting these stories together in the correct order. You just read one page after the next, wait that would be reversed. Alright, fuckit, I wrote the book backwards anyway. So what? I still need to put the chapters back together in some sort of cohesive order to make it all make sense. Then i have to find all my lost chapters because my phones were all compromised so i had to get creative with storage. Thanks by the way. You made my life extremely much harder but worse yet possibly lost all my work. Morons! On the plus side, the cover image of the devil and Jesus either arm wrestling or shaking hands (hard to tell) was made available by one of the founders at inkitt. So a huge thank you to her for being a pre-fan of my upcoming saga I’ve named “Unfolding Fiction” where the devil and God finally made a deal, and now they’re both against me. We’ll get to that. Anyway, I guess Let the fiction unfold...

Chapter 1

“It’s a conspiracy I tell you.”
“Don’t be crazy, they’re stars!” she says.
“I’m not crazy, I just have a wild imagination.”
“So wild you believe that the stars are really planets and thousands of them circle our sun?”
“How about so wild that I accidentally stumbled on the truth because I imagined every possible scenario and thats the one that makes the most sense.”
“Sense of what? How is that not crazy?”
“Sense of where UFOs come from, why president’s hairs all turn gray four years after they’re elected, of the conspiracy theories that don’t make sense like alien abductions and area 51 and the world trade—an alien attack—why the president carries around a nuclear football, why the Bush administration attacked Kuwait, why nobody voted for Bush but Al Gore lost anyway, why....”
“Stop! Just stop it!” she says.
“Why the moon landing hoax was covered up...” I continue.
“Now that I do believe,” she replies.
“Well you shouldn’t, but no, we cant leave the atmosphere, our best ships would implode, crushing the astronauts into pancakes, or actually explode, tearing their limbs apart as the strong force of vacuum pulled them in a hundred directions. Wearing some fancy space suit won’t keep you warm at temperatures of 3 kelvin. Do you know how cold that is? At like 200 Kelvin you die within seconds from the cold even with a warm parka on. 200 Kelvin is so cold, it would actually burn the skin on contact, leaving instant frostbite that would require immediate surgery. The universe out there is 3 kelvin. That means you can be in a spacesuit inside another spacesuit then wrapped in two dozen down comforters and you’ll still die 2.4 seconds after coming in contact with something that cold. It would crystallize your blood and your heart would solidify like fragile glass. Your brain would be instantly hardened and rendered useless within 1 second of that temperature even with a spacesuit pumping in heated air. The pipes holding the heated air would crystallize and float away like dust particles. 3 Kelvin is so cold, even the laws of physics and chemistry no longer apply. The chemical reaction needed to thrust a shuttle through space would diffuse in that cold coupled with the lack of air, there would be no chemical reaction. Forget that! Whats this thrusting through space nonsense? You cant thrust through a vacuum!! Theres no air! No air means no flames. No air means no drag. No air means no friction. There’s nothing to push off of. You cannot travel through space on a ship powered by fire-based engines. It’s simply not physically possible. The metal of the ship would get so cold it would crack into tiny pieces within minutes. Remember the Challenger? That was the only ship built to take on the space beyond the outer atmosphere and it didn’t even last 5 seconds out in space. Nothing we build will stop the empty burning cold of empty space from tearing it apart into shreds unless we start thinking outside the box. I bet a diamond could last a good solid 20 minutes out there. Then all you need is a machine that continually creates a skin of diamond layers that protect the inner compartments from the cold in wave after wave of bitter assaults by the creeping cold containment.”
“I want you to see a doctor,” she says.
My heart sinks.
“You’re not well,” she says very matter of factly.
“I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine. I can see clearly now,” I try to explain, but she’s not hearing me. She’s listening. The words are registering in her brain, but she’s not hearing me.
“I’ve already made you an appointment,” she says.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I answer.
“Oh?” she responds with a glimmer of hope that I might snap out of it.
“We’re trapped here. This planet is our prison. All the other planets get to travel all around the galaxy meeting millions of other life forms and we just sit here imagining we’re God’s children and there’s nothing else like us in the whole universe. I bet there’s 78 billion with a B, billion other planets just like this one where the inhabitants are forced to farm fruit and vegetables for export by alien forces. It’s amazing that in order to survive, we have to enter a blackhole, find a planet, fill it with water, then let the firelight grow the magical fruits and vegetables we need to nourish our bodies, which don’t last very long inside black holes in the first place. So we have to kill ourselves to survive because plants need darkness to yield fruit and outside of a blackhole, darkness does not exist. But boy is that fruit delicious!”
“Where do you come up with this?”
“It makes sense doesn’t it?”
“Yeah kind of,” she answers.
“You know how in the bible people lived to be a thousand years old?”
“Yeah, so what? That was a long time ago.”
“Do you think the earth travelled closer around the sun back then? Do you think they couldn’t figure out math or how to add or calculate a year on a calendar?”
“Well, no, but...”
“Do you think the bible is wrong and it’s a misprint? They actually lived that long because the solar system was not inside s black hole. Long ago, humans disobeyed their superior races and were cast out. Then the shenanigans following Christ’s murder was the last straw. Thats why its called the dark ages, because all of a sudden half the day was dark, which we then termed as night or nighttime. Truth is you only need sleep when in a blackhole because the pull is so strong it literally sucks the energy right off your bones, weakening you the moment you are born.”
“Tell me more!”
“That’s enough for now, you don’t deserve to know the truth.”

This post first appeared on Prelude To The Distraction Fiction Collections, please read the originial post: here

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P!apoose D Planetarium


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