Do I look like Lucy to you? A little bit.
I reckon there's crap enough on both sides of the fence for everybody to have a bootfull.
Fair enough.
I will admit there some certain aspects of the Q dogma that make sense and are admirable. Then along comes the kooky stuff and harshes the whole buzz, man.
Baby steps, my nukka. Baby steps.
The kooky stuff is made up by actual kooks. Not Q. You must learn to tell the difference.
And there's the same kinda kooks out here beyond the trees. Kookiness ain't never goin' away.
And believe it or not, some of the kookiness is real. Not so long ago people that explained Epstein and Maxwell would've been called kooks. Now what?
Not so long ago people that explained Epstein and Maxwell would've been called kooks. Oh, I don't know about that. Their whole mess seems pretty
much like rich hotshot playboys doing what rich hotshot
playboys do and always have done. Debauchin' it up like bosses.
It's when you stir in the secret tunnels full of dungeons
and devil worshippers hoppin' around eating up babbies and
cookin' 'em up into adrenochromes that it starts to get sketchy.
Beyond sketchy actually.
Now excuse me, I've got to shine up my red leather shoes
before the Grand Sabbat, otherwise I'll wind up hanging
by a red scarf from a doorknob. And nobody wants that.
Laws, no.
Wash yer hands.