Katty Pulsar

https://daydreammisfit.com Daydream Misfit website and blog

Daydream Misfit https://daydreammisfit.com

Daydream Misfit https://daydreammisfit.com

Daydream Misfit https://www.facebook.com/daydreammisfit/

Daydream Misfit https://daydreammisfit.com

Daydream Misfit https://daydreammisfit.com

BFF https://www.facebook.com/BFFDaydream

When I won the lottery in 1998, my smartest decision was to move to a new state and not tell anyone I was wealthy. I knew that otherwise I would never know if people were treating me based on who I am or by what they thought they could get from me.

While I was excited to get such a huge pile of money, my biggest concern was that I not become one of those people who blows through all the cash and ends up destitute. I bought a small shack on a plot of farmland outside of town, so I’d never have to worry about a good night’s sleep. Then I found a psychic in the phone book and started seeing her regularly to get investment advice. I put my remaining winnings into the stock market and got a job as a convenience store clerk in order to pay my meager monthly bills.

In March of 2000, the psychic pointed out an unusual planetary alignment, so I sold all my investment holdings for a hefty gain. After the DotCom bust, I reinvested in Apple and Amazon and others and rode the market as those stocks boomed. When the psychic had a bad dream about a house falling into a river, I sold everything at the exact market top in October of 2007. I got back in at the bottom in 2009 and held for over a decade. When the psychic died of a mysterious respiratory illness in 2019, I sold again and avoided the COVID crash, buying in again at the bottom and earning massive returns through the 2020s.

Anyway, that’s how I managed to turn millions into — well, I’m not going to put a number on it for you and the lurking taxman. The psychic visited me in a dream recently and her ghost warned me of a tsunami of ramen noodles, so I liquidated all my stock again at what will turn out to be the market top in 2026. This is not investment advice. But I’m sitting on more cash than you can imagine.

I continue to wear patched blue jeans. I drove a 2003 Kia Rio until it finally died. I bought and still drive a 2014 Ford Fiesta. I don’t flaunt my wealth. I make small anonymous donations to people I think deserve it. But mostly I use my money to support my passions: collecting comic books and developing chemical agents which will neuter all human males and bring an end to Gaea’s suffering.

The comic book thing is pretty straightforward. I finished my full run of Amazing a decade ago, and I’ve been working on upgrading each copy to 9.5 or above. I don’t even like Superman, but I hired a remote assistant and together we’re cobbling together all those issues, too, just for fun. So. Many. Reboots.

But my true passion is getting revenge on all the people who picked on me in childhood by chemically castrating their male heirs. My team years ago developed versions of our — proprietary blend — which can be administered in Monster energy drinks, coffee, beer, anything with a strong enough flavor to disguise the faint raspberry taste of Orcidololopril-498. From there, it was just a matter of hiring private agents to pose as bartenders and new “friends” to confirm that each unsuspecting patient received a proper dosage.

When you’re autistic and you spend enough time around people, almost everyone eventually drops their guard and loses their mask. It’s like people are compelled to let you know their contempt for you, like they’ll just die if they don’t reveal how beneath them they think you are. So you learn that people are basically bad. Bad monkeys. I learned this lesson when I was poor, and I learned it some more when I was rich and no one knew it. You discover that everyone is just pretending to not be evil, and you stop wondering why the world is the way it is when it doesn’t make sense, and then you start to have diabolical notions.

The team is very close to having airborne variants of our chemical agent ready for mass-distribution by aeroplane. We’ve been testing chemtrail distribution for months in the skies over Texas, and we’re happy with the results we’ve engineered so far. It turns out spraying corn gets it into just about everything.

When the testosterone-driven impulse to plunder the Earth’s resources, war over territory and influence, and erect monuments to man’s murderous greed and ego is purged from this world, Order can have a chance to recover. The green shoots coming up through cracks in the sidewalk are only the beginning.

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Daydream Misfit https://www.daydreammisfit.com

Daydream Misfit https://daydreammisfit.com

There's a box from Cologuard I'm supposed to return still sitting in my office.  I keep moving it so it's in my way and I have to step over it to remind me to -- fill it -- and return it.  To this point I haven't opened it.

I saw a meme intimating that there are two types of wipers: sitters and standers.  And that each group is entirely unaware of the other's existence.  As a former sitter, I can understand people get locked in their ways and stop using their imaginations to improve their lives.  But having tried both methods, standing is clearly superior.  At the very least, lift yourself into a half-squat so you get a good angle.  I feel like I'd have to be a gymnast or yoga-master to contort my middle-aged back and arm to reach around behind myself while seated.

Usually, and this is often because I go a few times a day, I will shower after.  At first, I liked to make sure my outside was thoroughly clean.  It always seemed like toilet paper was just kind of a half-measure and never actually got it all and I was just fooling myself.  Then I realized there was always just a little bit inside, too, so you had to soap up a fingertip and irrigate, and that made you feel fresh.  Then I realized that the whole rectum often had residuals and that you could flush that stuff out with the shower head and an extended middle-finger.  Eventually, I got to the point where I can navigate my whole arm through my intestines and back up my esophagus and wave at myself in the mirror with my hand sticking out of my mouth.

Ultimately, though, I realized that to be truly pure, I needed a method to avoid defecation completely.  I started calculating the specific number of calories it takes me to survive and have trained my body through intense exercise to be a nuclear furnace which burns every morsel of food as I eat it, including fiber.  I've reached an equilibrium where what I consume exactly equals what I need for energy.  On average, I have a bowel movement once every six months now.

What can I say?  I like being clean.  You people disgust me.

@kattypulsar

Daydream Misfit https://daydreammisfit.com