I am Dr. Angstrom H. Troubonymous. I have enjoyed a long, storied career as a plastic surgeon to America’s top most beautiful celebrities. Some people say I do not deserve my wealth. Some say I deserve nothing at all. Others still will say I should be locked up, behind bars, and caged like an animal. As you can see, with all my accolades, I’m about ready to prescribe you a whole medicine chest of oxys, percocets, tramadol, xanny bars, yellow boys, and footballs.
I do not have a medical license, but the way everybody’s looking for me, you would think I am the best doctor in town, and you’d be right! But no, I may not have no fancy medical degrees. No, I did not go to Princeton, Harvard, or Yale. I attended Lebal Drocer University, where everybody gets a turn. From there I learned the invaluable art of having a good time.
That is why I come to you today with shrimp benzos, shrimp downers, shrimp quaaludes – I can still get those (I know a guy) – perc 30s, perc scampy, perc burgers, perc in aspic, perc in boiled sauce – perc mayo and perc junip, with sprigs on the side.
I am a pretty good old doctor. Look for me in the Yellow Pages. Remember the Yellow Pages?
A group of ‘hardcore career pedophiles’ originating from the 8chan imageboard are responsible for all official QAnon postings, new leaks reveal
After bypassing QAnon’s Department of Defense shell, which Q uses to make his postings look as if they originate from a source inside the government, the Anonymous hacker known only as a$$hurt backtraced Q’s messages to the Phillippines and a man named Jim Watkins, who appears to be head of the so-called ‘Q project’.
Watkins is under investigation by the FBI for involvement in the depraved imageboard 8chan and its associated child pornography ring, but he is also the owner and administrator of both 8kun.org and Qmap.pub, which are followed by Q fans as the most authoritative sources for QAnon posts.
According to server logs obtained by a$$hurt, QAnon’s postings are fabricated by a small team of ‘hardcore pedophiles’. These documents provide lavish details of a lurid and despicable world behind the masked and mysterious QAnon. Each piece of evidence provided by a$$hurt has been independently vetted and verified by both the Internet Chronicle and Wikileaks, which have never made a factual mistake.
“There is no doubt about Watkins,” a$$hurt told reporters in an exclusive interview with the Internet Chronicle. “His clients at Pacific Internet Exchange also went to jail for child porn … He’s made a career out of purveying [child porn], and only recently pivoted to this ‘Q project’ in a last ditch attempt to avoid extradition and prosecution for his crimes.”
Former 8chan web developer, Frederik Brennan, first discovered that Jim Watkins had full control over QMap.pub on Aug 23, “This is not a drill, people. Jim Watkins is the owner of QMap.pub.” Brennan was the first to blow the whistle on the possibility that Jim Watkins and his team of hardcore pedophiles could have full control over QAnon at any moment, saying, “If he’s not ‘Q’ himself, he can find out who ‘Q’ is at any time.”
For Q followers, the revelation that their beloved Q is himself trafficking in child pornography has been emotionally devastating.
Nancy Macadame, widow and former Q believer told the Internet Chronicle, “I knew that Satan worshipers were abusing precious children to gain evil powers, but I never thought their spells could be used against me. I thought I knew better. I thought it was just Democrats and Liberals behind all of this. But Q himself? Bless my heart. I will not be led astray again.”
Other former Q followers are asking themselves why the pedophiles behind the scenes wanted to make so many people hate the Democrats. “I mean I never liked Democrats to begin with. But are the Republicans paying off this fake Q, this Jim Watkins? Are they part of this same child abuse network? I’ve read many things that seem to point towards Trump being great friends with Epstein, but I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Now that I know about Jim Watkins, maybe I’ll think again. You know, Q may be fake, and so was the plan, the storm, but by GOD we’re going to make our own storm. The pedophiles aren’t going to get away with getting one over on US. Where we go one, we go all!”
Soooo, yeah. I bet right now you’re probably wondering how I got here, huh?
VHS footage rewinds through an entire, shitty puppet act, and
I’m staring, like a stoop, at someone who should not exist, an adult who plays with dolls, in front of me, for money.
Mom and Dad fight a lot. I escape into videogames and youtube videos – changing by the minute – on a 6th-generation iPad handed down to me from Aunt Judy. A single iPad does little to muffle the gut-wrenching snarles of hatred coming up through the floor, but it does minimize their impact on my sensitive brain.
For some reason, though, Mom and Dad are pissed off that I’m on it all the time. Over the weekend, Dad entered my room without knocking. I expected him to kneel down at my eye level, comfort me, and maybe even let me know they are not getting a divorce. Instead of comforting me, Dad took away my videogames and explained they have decided to enrich my life by taking me down to the community theater, where a balding man in suspenders would introduce me and a pack of Latch-Key kids to a miniature stage and his troupe of ancient puppets. Was this some kind of sick joke?
Let me tell you, folks. This shit is real.
So out comes the puppet act. I’m sitting here watching some Gallagher-looking burnout, and he’s dancing his little puppets around – marionettes, he calls them – and you can tell he’s been doing it a long time, since before I was born, because these little wooden bastards are creepy looking. But they are not supposed to be. He never once acknowledges it. Also, he never tells any jokes, or does anything remotely entertaining, whatsoever. At no time do I enjoy this. Still, he just keeps going.
I can even see his shoulders. The guy is right there, behind the stage! I give Dad a sidelong glare, and he looks back at me, nodding, as if to say, “Son, this is from before iPads and shit.”
So I figure ‘whatever.’ I’m giving this lanky beatnik the benefit of the doubt. I mean, this guy has committed his entire life to this material, so it must be some entertaining shit, right? Wrong! This guy’s puppet material is the least relatable thing I’ve seen since Dad introduced me to Henny Youngman.
Maybe I exhibit awareness beyond my years, but I only just learned how to read, and I still need more than a three-word setup, and one-word punchline, Mr. Youngman.
Anyway, back to the puppets: Do you realize how desensitized I am? OK, I am five years old, and I have access to close-up, hidden camera massage parlor pornography, alone in my bedroom. You’re going to have to do better than jangling two limp puppets in front of me like a set of car keys. Oh, they have personalities! Do they? Do they, really? Which one’s the funny one? Which one is more entertaining than electric football?
Now I’m back at home. My parents’ failing marriage has once again stolen the show, and I am back on the iPad. I found a neat 8-hour unboxing video of a product that does not even exist, and is just there to edge me closer and closer to the ultimate dopamine release, which sources tell me is right around the corner.
This is the Waiting for Godot of unboxing videos. Surely the dopamine will hit soon.