meow

Bearer of the word HIM, laid demiurges in the sack with my ten-inch blade. Got vaginoplasty, now I wield the Maybe Strap. I fucked them through the codpiece of God, the lock was irresolute. Pussy so stank the Glitter God backs up but I dive right in. Fucker tried to make me his envoy so I lit my pipe off Flame and called him a bitch. This shit ain't nothing to me man.

Even the Witch in Glass never heard of the strain, we smoking the world-soul. Light that shit with the chaotic black flame, I love how the devils squirm in my tummy. Flushed them down, now the sewer speaks Universal Metaconstant.

My soul is gone, the devils took it in the divorce. Can't use my Atum to light a fucking cigarette. Still walking, still talking, still putting motherfuckers in the dirt in defiance of the spirit sciences. You think I can't fight back? I'll kill you! I'll watch the Wheel turn beneath me until you recur and kill you twice!

I'm moving like Aesma, I'm too powerful to give a shit. YISUN thinks I'm pretty, call me God's perfect idiot. I take in the wisdom of a million masters and I'm still illiterate. Pump the brakes, fucker, your empires quake as I smoke my last blunt. Gotta do a grocery run, leave worlds burning in my wake. Call me the Wheel Fucking Lord because the Shape got curves. Saw the multiverse laid out before me and lord but that pussy stank, I need more.

If you've committed a crime and a detective gathers everyone involved in the room, especially if he's not actually a detective and is instead a novelist, puzzle-setter, psychic, fake psychic, dog, chess grandmaster, etc. ...

YOU SHOULD NOT CONFESS.

Every year, hundreds of people are put away by non-traditional "detectives" who have either inserted themselves into the case or are working with the police in a dubiously legal capacity as advisor. In 99% of these cases, the murderer gives a full confession even though the evidence against them is circumstantial at best and often requires a long just-so story which can only guess at motive.

If this happens to you, stay quiet, do not attempt to defend yourself or talk your way out of it, only say "I want a lawyer".

Now if you find yourself being investigated by a boy genius, magician's assistant, anthropologist, classics scholar, or philosopher, it's likely that refusing to talk to the police (or investigator with no legal authority) is merely the end of the second act, and by the end of the third act they will have you dead to rights.

YOU SHOULD STILL NOT CONFESS.

Make them take it to court. Force the eccentric detective and his straight-laced police partner to take the stand and explain their methods to a jury of your peers. Have your lawyer look at the chain of custody on the evidence, especially if you believe it to have been handled by someone who has only bumbled into detective work through their natural charm and/or unique set of skills and outsider perspective that come in handy more often than they should.

Waitress taking my order: Such arrogance! Not only do you presume to boast under the guise of being humble, but your order employs the most decadent of linguistic excesses - the tautology!

My date, who until recently thought "tautology" referred to the study of tensile strengths and upon learning her mistake compensated by reading through its Wikipedia article: That would be more correctly identified as a "pleonasm".

The editor I hired to curate my posts who styles himself as a sort of scheming court advisor: My liege, this one is getting away from us. The punchline loses much of its impact when the rest of the joke is derailed by this increasingly self-indulgent meta humour. Were it up to me, your Grace, which of course it is not, I would cut the others and leave myself as the only supporting character. You need noone else, Your Majesty...