Am I God, Gobland?

Am I God, Gobland?

by Papoose Doorbelle

a P!apoose Doorbelle Publishing joint

This book is intended for an adult audience.

Copyrights

© 201 8 Papoose Doorbelle Publishing All Rights Reserved

A Papoose Doorbelle Publishing publication

P!apoose, P!apoose Publishing, and Papoose Doorbelle Publishing are all trademarks and intellectual property of Ken Dizzik. Feel free to plagiarize my work; I would too if I were you. (disclaimer: don’ t do that )

Any reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this publication or any of the contents contained in this publication is strictly prohibited without the author ’ s written consent.

This is your copy of my story. Let no man nor woman take that away from you. They can get their own copy, just like you did. Enjoy your copy, my book, our fiction. Plus, what fiction?

2011 Queen’s Psychotic

2018 Punny Jokes 101

2018 Am I God, Gobland ?

Dedication

In memory of Sean P!

Peace elevates to you.

We’ll join you soon.

That is all.

Acknowledgement

Special thank goes out to many people. Those who helped this book remain an unadulterated work of fiction in its rarest form and format know who they are and need no further mention. A small number of resources may be unaware of the value they added to the fiction contained herein, but never the less, they remained useful and fruitful until the time came to complete this manuscript and put their shenanigans to an abrupt end. It is those persons in particular who were unaware of their role in this work after it was approved by my master that deserve the greatest thanks despite their intentions to the contrary. Their callous, malicious, spiteful, dangerous, and at times deadly acts and intentions were the fertilizer used to grow this lotus flower of a story from the muddy swamp surroundings from which it blossomed. While fertilizer is essentially for all intents and purposes just shit, plain old shit, it still can lead to some of the most beautiful blossoms ever seen, and the richer the fertilizer, the more robust the beauty of the plant. Being planted in a field of dark swamp-like evil is no easy task, but even harder, is being a bunch of total fucken idiots to not realize your prey is the one victimizing you into timeless fiction. So, while certain events and acts caused temporary pain, discomfort, or other side effects; eventually, they wear off, especially when the subject is removed from the environment, but the material provided as substance to expose them with literature worthy of retaining into the distant future; now that takes some really big idiots, and for that, I thank God and His many powers for which I have yet to comprehend. What a gifted talent to have such great foresight. I only wish I one day achieve the awe-inspiring ability to pave such narrow yet solid paths for His servants to walk across the fires of their enemies unharmed. So in conclusion: thank you.

Disclaimer

I am not God. I don ’ t know what goes on inside that giant cranium of his, and good lord is that thing enormous. I mean, have you seen just his forehead lately? Last time I checked, and that must have been back in 2011 or so, it was stupid big. Like he could hammer nails into hardwood with that thing.

Anyway, I am careful never to blaspheme. So don ’ t get it twisted. This is just a work of fiction from my wild imagination; nothing more, but probably a lot less. I mean, shit, probably like a lot a lot less. Like a lot a lot. But let ’ s not digress. Okay, let’s digress a little. I say fiction, but really, you should be able to tell where the fiction stops and the truth begins. So far, I’ve written 62,120 words of fiction. Now, I’m going to add something else to this book. What that is? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m already dead and writing from hell. Maybe I’m the only one alive, and we all are in hell. Maybe this is heaven, and hell is a lot lot lot worse. I don’t know. All I do know is based on what I’ve seen so far, if this exists, then surely there must be a God; for there cannot be evil without good, right? I mean, can there be only evil? Can there be only hell and no heaven? I’d argue that’s impossible, but from where we stand, or perhaps from where we are enslaved, there is no telling truth from fiction anyway. So to that end, let the truth unfold.

The chapters in this book were written in the reverse order of their occurrence. Meaning, the beginning happened last, and the last happened first. Interestingly, I wrote the first chapter before I ever experienced the last chapter, because that ’ s how sure I was of the events that would progress following the writing of the first chapter. Of course, you’ll be reading them in the reverse order of the order they were written, and then that order is slightly muffled and mixed to provide a more entertaining experience, so in a nutshell, I have no idea where the truth starts, the fiction stops, and where the stories happen to have occurred. Now scratch all that, because by the time I’m done writing, there won’t be any telling which chapter happened when. So, take that for whatever it’s worth.

What you are about to read is intended to be read only by you. Do not share your story with others, and do not let others read your story. This tale in these pages belongs to you alone. You bought this book. You own these pages. This is your story. Let no man or woman ever take that away from you. We now enter the terms of our deal. By continuing to read, you make me this promise. Do not break our deal. I will not break my promise to you, so don’t break your promise to me. If you violate the terms of this agreement; if you share your story with others, you will have broken a promise to yourself, and for that, there is no recovery. So if you like what you read, keep your mouth shut, your eyes open, and keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times. This book is a vehicle. It will take you somewhere you never knew existed and never wanted to visit, but it is absolutely imperative every person on this planet be aware of where they are or forever be damned to an eternity of servitude. Irrespective , keep it to yourself. If they didn’t buy it; if they didn’t read the words they bought; if, if, if, if, let them read their own copy, and you keep your copy to yourself. There is no value in sharing a book with others, if the story was intended solely for you.

Additional disclaimer: this disclaimer does not apply to library copies, who can ignore the above disclaimer.

Introduction - Believability

The story you are about to read is fiction. It is loosely based on actual events. Of those events, 40% of them, I witnessed directly; 30% I heard but did not see, or heard about but did not hear directly, but not necessarily hearsay; 25% were true accounts relayed to me by others who were given polygraphs after hearing their ridiculous claims (nobody passed the polygraph); and the final 15% are from deductive reasoning, invented logical conclusions, predictive mathematical formulas, redacted calculated assumptions, seductive educated guesses, legends, myths, gossip, and finally rumors that I made up and then spread myself in a childish attempt at stirring up unnecessary drama. So there you have all 110% of what I offer you with this book, and that ’ s 27% believable, which is far more than you would allocate this book had you known the truth. And there’s a 33% chance of that. I’m keeping the two-thirds remaining for the ending.

So what is the truth? The truth is, there is some truth to the stories I share, but where the fiction ends and the historical references begin is a line so blurry that I had to stop myself sometimes and question which parts were really true, which parts were figments of my imagination, which parts were based on real events, and which parts I was just flat out making up to keep the story interesting. Interestingly, I wrote that paragraph long before the world changed shape and the fiction I believed I was writing came to life and engulfed me into a tale so absurd, even the wildest fiction writer would think twice about writing such nonsense. Yet, here we are, and here I am, about to add a whole lot of unbelievable truth to the fiction I wrote prior to the events that occurred recently that I cannot in good conscience deny the world from knowing. I will say this however, if you don’t believe me, then believe this: at some point, I stopped writing fiction. At some point, I put the book down and fled for my life across 5 states and 1,000 miles with an unrelenting pursuit by demons and witches intent on discrediting and destroying me before I could share any of this. At some point, I quit writing, and starting relying on survival skills as the wannabe illuminati fake ass murderers set their sights on me as their next victim of their satanic rituals. At some point, they learned they should fear me more than I should fear them. God bless (ed me not them).

If you think it ’ s obvious which one is which when you read this story, think again. I ’ ll never tell, and those who know will never admit, confess, validate, verify, or even hint or imply are true. So your guess is as good as mine, because the truth behind this story, well, I for one am taking to the grave. Ironically, I’ve recently dug myself out of a grave, so you may notice some revelations of the truth blatantly added to the end of paragraphs, such as this one, where it is clear that I couldn’t possibly imagine the shit I seem to be pulling out of my fingertips. Speaking of which, in later volumes, you may be instructed to pull things out of your fingertips.

Also, b e sure to check out the sequel: the truth behind my first book and why I didn ’ t take it to the grave. Or my third book in this upcoming trilogy: how I ended up dead in prison for revealing the truth behind my first book in my second book, which better come with pecan topping or I ’ m cashing out.

Speaking of pecans, if you think this introduction is nuts, then I say nuts to that, because the rest of this book is straight up batshit cray cray, dead ass yo. (That means ‘ the story is really crazy, for real, like really. ’ Translations are subject to change and interpretation).

So now that you know I ’ ve given 110%, what will you do with that information? I say, skip the book, read the last few pages, and give away the ending to shoppers at your local bookstore just to teach everyone a valuable lesson about wasting time. Then again, if you did that, you wouldn’t be reading this, so that’s already backfired from the get go. But if not, then option B is to become a nazi and start a book burning club for purchasers of this book. I say you’ve probably already chosen the latter and don’t even realize it, but we can circle back to that later. Whatever you do, do not read this book. It ’ s totally not worth it. I promise you ’ ll hate a lot more things before you ever finish reading it than you do now, and hate is bad. Of course there’s always option C, and choosing to see is an option only you can decide on, on your own.

Whatever you decide, I ’ ll see you in hell. After all, I ’ ve already set my place at the table. The deal was made long before I ever started writing. In fact, when offered the option between heaven and hell after my death, I made a choice you could never understand, believe, or justify. But the deal is made, and come hell or high water, Im sure most of the people who thought it wise or funny or amusing to be cruel and sadistic to an innocent person out of greed and hatred will find themselves begging the devil for mercy on what I have awaiting them. It ’ ll be nice to have some company in hell, especially servants and slaves in need of corrective punishment. I hear hell isn ’ t really that crowded anymore what with Earth stealing all the thunder. Shame to have to send so many demons back to hell, but on the plus side, well, there is no plus side, but we’ll get to that.

There’s a joke in there somewhere my dad told me once and it was mildly amusing; not enough to laugh at, but almost enough to break a friendly smirk across half my mouth as if desperate to deny the inner torment the joke implied. Needless to say, I’ll spare you from that humor, or lack thereof.

Where Do I Begin?

So, where to begin? It all started with this Plenty of Fish account of a girl with a collection of , how shall I put this... enhanced profile pictures to lure innocent young men into her web of deceit. You know? The free dating app Plenty of Fish? Emphasis on the free. I would sue them if I wasn't so stupid to let myself think dating can be manipulated with a computer. Interesting, the only thing you’ll find in a free dating app is a bunch of sadistic, manipulative witches looking for fresh victims.

Turns out dating apps are blanketed by witches and demons in human form like a bed in the Arctic with the window open. They prey on victims looking for love in all the wrong places; no fine girls, just ugly faces; from frustration first inclination is to become a man and leave the situation, and the rest of that song doesn’t relate, so we’ll stop there. But some wear braces, or paste pretty faces, then leave no traces, so tie your laces, cause they'll make you run races with no delay and no belay just to make sure you stay far away from your own friends and family. Okay that's enough nursery rhymes, but you get the point. Let’s circle back to that later.

It’s later. So, when I say ‘witch,’ make no mistake of what I mean. She was a real live witch, born from hell’s ashes back onto Earth in the form of a human girl who died during cancer treatment. Nobody knew that she died. It was only for a few seconds. The nurses chalked it up to a computer glitch if she was even wired into a device that monitored her heartbeat at the time. But in those few seconds, the sweet girl who was undergoing chemotherapy died, and a demon from hell snatched up her body and replaced the girl, who was dragged to hell, while her replacement, the demon witch, took over the body, causing a slow decay and death of the organs and body parts over the years to follow her miraculous recovery from the cancer treatment.

On a side note, most people who undergo chemotherapy from a serious form of cancer are replaced by demons, and if you want to prove it to yourself, there’s a simple way. Ask the person about a memory from their childhood that you know the details to but they would have to rely on their memory to detail it themselves. For example, I asked her about the neighborhood she grew up in during elementary school; the streets, the houses, the land, the nearby sights; all available for me to see on Google maps. Unfortunately, the test I gave her included not looking at her phone while describing any of the details. She couldn’t get a single detail right. Not the name of any of the streets adjacent to the one she grew up on, not the nearby highway, not even famous landmarks in the vicinity of that house. She couldn’t even tell me if there were trees in the yard or not. Now me personally, I can recall with great detail some of the memories related to the houses I lived in during my childhood no matter how faint. As she realized she was failing the simple task, the skin on her face started to melt off her head. She literally had to pull the mask back onto her head and hold it there, tightening the skin as if glue needed to dry underneath before she could let go. Let’s circle back to that later. Actually, on second thought, let’s not.

First Wish

If you grant me three wishes, the first would be that nobody ever needs another wish granted again. What is the one thing I want more than anything else? What is the one thing anybody wants more than anything else? Is it to never have to want anything ever again? If it isn't, then what else can possibly be more important than to find yourself in the unique position where you are free of desires permanently.

And in terms of being free of desires permanently, I neither mean being dead nor being Buddhist. Here I am speaking of actually having all your desires fulfilled. But then that begs the question, what are my innermost desires? What does a man want more than anything else? Is it to be loved? To be in control? To be feared? To be rich? To be powerful? Aren't these all rewards that a person learns to crave as he gets older and finds himself struggling in life, but they are not the original desires or perhaps just one single desire that drives us forward to continue pursuing that happiness in a seemingly pointless fashion.

Can it be so simple as to simply wish myself happy and find myself being the only one preventing myself from being happy? Perhaps wishing happiness is not enough. Maybe a certain amount of luck and chance play a role in a person's happiness. But what if what a person wants isn't to be happy? Is that possible? Can a person not want to be happy? Doesn't that very concept go against our system programming that we are all equally born with ? Does not every human being spend their entire live seeking out happiness?

Is it possible that there are beings out there that do not want happiness? Any who, yes, they prey on unsuspecting victims, but what is it they want? What is it that anybody wants, right? You join a dating app looking for love. We all want this exotic unattainable sensation that casts a shadow over the greatest drug high in the world with euphoria so pure and natural in its sweet perfection there is no way it could ever fade away. And that's how you know love will not fade away, because it's natural. But what is that feeling?

Zen of Love

In all honesty, I'm not going to bore you with my stupid attempts at defining the Zen of love, but what I will say is that it's worth risking everything to attain it even for a little while. It's better to have loved and lost, right? Of course it is, because now you have a taste of the honey and you know there's a sweetness to life worth pursuing. And when we find pursuits in life, we find purpose. So love gives us purpose. The purpose of life is to fall in love ,. Brilliant deduction! Sherlock patronizes his sidekick. I'll go out and fall in love right now! It was easy when we were young. But was that love?

Maybe there were a half a handful that stirred sensations in me that echoed a symphony against the marrow inside me, bouncing off the inner wall of skin to bend against the same bone further up the spine. And off I went to find love online. No need to spend your hard earned money and embarrass yourself at a bar getting shot down by women completely out of your league, now there's a website where you can get shot down for free. What do they prey for? Do they kill them? Do they cook them and eat them? No, these witches introduce heartache and drama into a person's life and turn their world upside down. They weasel their way into the victim's family and inner circle, distancing them from their connections and causing unnecessary conflict with lies and misinformation.

The goal is to cause the victim distress and discomfort up to and including job and property loss, friends and family loss, financial losses, reputation and professional damage, which combined are all close to impossible to recover from, leading most victims to turn to suicide as a result and earning the witch another notch on her belt.

In my case, there was some mystery history dating back to two years earlier that led to her losing her job, husband, and health, which to date I have no idea what happened, but it must have been pretty serious to warrant such harsh retaliation. The lesson learned was a harsh one, and the price paid was even more expensive than I could possibly even explain. Yet, when all's said and done, I'm grateful for the experience. That's the thing about lemonade, the more sour the lemons, the better the juice.

Before I delve into the details of every horrible thing she did to