German Psycho, Part I

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Jan 11, 2017 06:17
It's with great disappointment that I close the überexchange.edu browser tab. Still no Boer hardbodies offering their educational services. It seems that I have no other choice than flying down to South Africa. Unfortunately, I won't be able to curb crawl since I have no driving license, but I don't expect Boer hardbodies walking the sidewalk up and down, waiting for clients, anyway. But my mastering of the formation of diminutives really needs improvement, so it's likely I will book a flight very soon.

I've noticed a flimsy layer of dust on my Sennheiser HE 1 headphone amplifier, so I get one of the cleansing tissues from that Karabakhian company whose name I am unable to pronounce. The tissues cost about $60 a piece, but their three-layer lining which makes them so smooth, gentle and effective easily justifies every cent. I still have to test which one of the five pairs of speaker cables I've recently bought is the best one. My fortune-teller has called me a nincompoop for paying $21,000 for three meters of Audioquest Everest cable alone. I've refrained now from buying her a platinum stand for her crystal ball as a birthday present, she will only receive a golden one from me. Since she's my most valuable employee, I'll still arrange, though, for the etching of the signatures of all members of her favorite band Nickelback into the stand.

While I am dusting off the amplifier, a mail arrives from my mom on my Goldvish [sic] Eclipse smartphone. She is currently on a sex vacation at the Falkland Islands, and she has sent me a photo of her current lovers. While I don't object her being on a sex vacation per se, it feels a bit strange to receive photos of her lovers that could be my sons. They also look quite funny in their gaudy Thatcher swimming trunks (obviously, the photo was taken inside the Stanley Leisure Centre). Mom also writes that the stamina of the Falkland Islanders is on par with the one of the Faroese (the Faroe Islands were one of her latest hunting grounds). Well, she's the expert, so be it then.

Since I had made Miami my twenty-eighth home a few months ago I had been waiting for my private Airbus H155 helicopter to get fixed, but yesterday the repairmen finally finished their work, so I can use it now for my journeys, business or otherwise. Before I go up to the roof I take a quick look at the mail. My signed copy of "Trevor Lynch's White Nationalist Guide to the Movies" has arrived, and my heart is beating in anticipation. That should make for an exciting read this evening! Time to do my business for today first, though. I enter the gem-studded glass elevator and take a SpongeBob cup of kumquat/cape gooseberry juice with cinnamon from the JD 318 3 Bowl Mix System juice dispenser. My Liberlandian maids have done good work in keeping everything neat and clean so far, so I think I am going to recommend the domestic agency to my friends and business partners (Wikipedia says that Liberland has zero inhabitants. Inaccurate as usual, probably centrist vandalism). The elevator doors open, and I walk over to my chopper. The new spray paint arts on its rear depicting Angela Davis and Murray Rothbard look really awesome. I'll fly around a bit for some minutes first, it always gives me fresh ideas about how to optimize my schedule for the day.