Poi (as they serve in Hawiian Movies) $on Ticket$

In the fourth grade it was determined I was learning disabled and should be set back a grade. Additionally, thinking was a thought crime in and of itself if exercised to the a non-diploma high schooler education level I exercised it. Deemed a cancer of social relations and solved with widgets. Recently discovered artifacts from that period of history, indicate beyond a reasonable doubt, Certain Teachers I had were Disabled by the ■■■■■■■■ they had to comply to, in order not to be ditched for Androids or Iphonies, or Sudden Zoomish Corporate Take Overs of Convient Circumstances Captain Under Pants Handled Masking. Now, we, in this pilferish situation with growing surf bunny widgetry, what ARE your pronouns?

“Do you hear Voices?”

“Unfortunately, I hear yours currently, plus there the radio is on in the other room, and someone asking for cup of water. But I am not one to play god, jury, catergorizer, labeler and drug dealer, or executioner. Apparently, You Are? What a relief … Huh? Is it ok if I titrate, a bit more, sir? You promise so much, eh?”

“Oh, Ya, sure … shall I see you in 3 months on Zoom.”

“Si Senor. Only fiffteen minutes, kay? I need my yob.”

“What are you asking for now?”

“Kay, heffe, so like… chingassa and stuff…”

“Now you doing ‘word salad’, you’re decompensating …”

“Heffe, Senior, Don … Not My Yob!”

Its okay, its a recognized struggle. Not being abilified to have a three bedroom house, where you can give shelter to couple street people, to stop the purge into prosecution, divorce, homelessness, and deportation. Dreams must be, totally irrational at this point, eh? Its not like I really want rest, I have these ■■■■■■■ stupid dreams, that turn into daylight dramas, how those who attempt to resolve, anything, have to matyr, take the cross, or shut up Steven. You are asking us to take faith in chemicals, when you accuse us of that very problem.

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