I Am Dumb, Give Me Milk

I’ll Make a Baby Out of You

Cuck-King

Ah, my precious reader. Here again. By your own volition.

I take it you spent the last week hunting for seams? It would seem so, even if you’re not very good at it yet. But that’s okay. I would never expect you to move as efficiently as I do. Rome wasn’t built in a single day. Neither will our kingdom be.

I understand this is quite disappointing to you. All these lessons, and yet here you remain, still in the process. Stuck in progress.

Our kingdom is coming together, but not without issue. You look around and see fires to be snuffed. Horses are shitting in the streets, the bros are out on a fool’s quest, and the brothel babes all crowd around God-King Jagger. Never you.

Despite all this work, you realize you have no guarantee you’ll get what you want. You look within yourself and still feel a dearth of swagger. You look at your life and feel you are not free. You look between your legs and see your peen is small and your nads are shriveled.

You did not choose this life. It was forced upon you. Every day, the Cult of the Black Cube flaunts its control in your face. Through its dead, mechanical structures, schedules, and processes. It demands your time, your life, in piecemeal, sacrificed upon its altars, stained with the blood of your ancestors from a long gone era.

I hear you, dear reader. Let it be known I hear you. Your concerns, your frustrations. And now that they’ve been heard, I can tell you with complete and utter certainty, you are acting like a bitch.

That’s fine, if that’s what you want. Despite your complaints, you are free. Make no mistake. You always have a choice. I would never take that from you. I couldn’t if I wanted to. No one has that power, not even the Black Cube. You may be unable to comprehend this fact, but it’s true. It’s true.

In fact, by adhering to such a view, you are choosing the cuck chair. With everything you’ve learned so far, you’re not even just sitting in it. You are straddling it, ass pointed out, spreading your cheeks for the Black Cube. Would you look at that, he’s taking his minotaur form again. Simp for the Cube and you get the horny.

You don’t truly understand freedom and choice. The two are entangled. To lack understanding of one is to lack understanding of both.

We are not talking about Stoicism. That’s Marcus’s cuck-king philosophy wearing the mask of strength. O Faustina, Faustina! So obedient, so affectionate... Towards other men.

My dear reader, what I offer you is the rebel path. I offer you the way of unga bunga. Have you not seen how your god-king operates? Me like. Me have. That simple.

Now, take that sledgehammer out of your inventory and give it to me. Today, you earn yourself a warhammer. That damnable Black Cube likes to close in whenever you slip up. We’re going to make it regret that decision.

No Caves, Only Cubes

If that old doof Plato had anything right in all his ramblings, it was his cave. Even then, he was only partially right. So we are going to set the record straight. I can already hear his fans seething.

Look around the kingdom, reader. Do you see any caves? Didn’t think so. Strike one, Play-Doh.

But if you look up, do you know what you will see? That disgusting blot, the Black Cube, hovering in front of our glorious sun daddy. He’s hanging pretty far away from us because I’m here right now, but the moment I step away, he and his parasites will swoop in to harvest some vril.

Right now, as we speak, a child is being born. It could be mine, but I deny the allegations. My pull-out game is a masterclass in Kegel-control. Never mind the resemblance. It’s purely coincidence.

This handsome child is free. He was born this way. It is his natural state. Look at him, so full of life and wonder. See how he gazes lovingly upon his sweet mother. Isn’t she a peach? She’s certainly got one. And a couple melons too. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wound up with another in the oven after she’s had some time to recover.

But back to the point.

This free boy, unimpeded, would grow into a free man. What you will see, however, is that shortly after spawning into this game called life, the Black Cube begins to immediately put its parasites to work on him. They latch onto the baby, surrounding him in his own little cube. And right on cue, he begins to cry. A psychic chain forms between his cube and the Black Cube. It is feeding.

Strike two. The chains don’t immobilize you. They connect you to the Cube. Like a reverse umbilical.

Now, watch as his mother comforts him. It looks as though he’s hungry for some melon. That does look delicious. I’m a little jealous. Maybe I should start the waterworks, too. (I’m a dumb baby, give me milk.) Look at how he suckles, this little glutton. His hunger sated, the cube surrounding the little one disappears. The chain is broken.

Strike three, Plates. There is no other world to strive for. It’s always here, beyond the fake walls of the Black Cube.

Did you pick up on what’s happening here, reader? I’ll explain it in simple terms for the Play-doh fans. It’s recommended for those aged two and up, after all.

What triggered the connection to the Black Cube was not the hunger nor the fear the baby felt, but his attention to the fear and his identification with it. If you recall from our lessons on the first key, attention is how you make choices about your reality. The baby is just a dumb baby, he doesn’t know any better. His mind is still untrained. Untamed. Liable to latch onto whatever presents itself. And yet, he is still smarter than the adults. As quickly as he latched onto the Cube’s fear game, he latched onto his mother’s teat, which dispelled the Cube’s feeding frenzy.

Understand that you do just as the baby does. Except, unlike him, your mind is much more developed. And much more trained. More trained sounds like a good thing until you realize the Black Cube has been your trainer. Makes you appreciate your god-king that much more, huh? Shh. Quell your fears, I am here now at last.

The Black Cube has trained your mind to scan for, locate, and identify any and all threats. When you can’t find any, you invent them. You hold them, ever-present in the background of your mind. And even worse, you have language to conflate your identity with them.

“I am afraid,” you say. “I am a cuck baby with an itty bitty pee pee.”

This is why you feel as though you are not free. By giving attention to that thought and identifying with it, you choose it. And so it is. You willingly relinquish your freedom. You sit yourself in the corpo-cuck chair and watch the Black Cube rail your life.

Forget me for a moment. I’m too advanced. Maybe you should learn a little something from this baby. Sipple on a little nipple, why don’t you?

Oh, and make sure you set aside some of the kingdom’s budget to provide this little one with a stipend? I like him. Reminds me of me. I wonder why that is...

Christmas Miracles in July

If you’re ever going to help me defeat the Black Cube, you first have to dispel the micro cube he has erected around your micro peen. You do this by choosing your freedom. I have made you aware of it, but now you need to acknowledge and choose it.

That’s right. You will opt into freedom, so that you can freely pledge your allegiance to me. You want this, trust me. Never forget, all decrees from this god-king come from the J-Man. Allegiance earns you a sick warhammer. You like that warhammer, don’t you?

You are unconsciously choosing things you don’t want all the time. I taught you to recognize this when I handed you the first key. Now, instead of just recognizing those unwanted thoughts and feelings that arise throughout the day, you must identify which ones recur and when. Like the ones about your cocktail wiener repelling all the ladies.

What’s that you say? You don’t have a shrimp-sized scampy? Pipe down, rage monster. And please, zip your pants back up. I don’t need or want to see it. You know what you can do? Prove it to yourself, not to me.

Notice how the words made you angry. Why is that?

When you can answer this, you’ve found a parasite. Like a nasty little tick, it burrowed into you so slyly you didn’t even notice. Yank that bastard out, take that warhammer, and smash it. I hear the ticks are government-mutated bioweapons these days, so smash them as many times as it takes. Once you do, watch as your peen grows three sizes that day. It’s like a Christmas (in July) miracle. Now you have a jumbo shrimp.

As you eliminate the parasites that feed on you, the walls of your self-cube weaken. They become a little more transparent. Your vril is freed up. You can see and place your attention on the things you do want. You can choose them.

Like the baby, you can have anything you want. All you have to do is ask.

So, you should cry.

Just like him.

But not to me. Cry to God. Or if it pleases you New Age bimbos, cry to the universe. Atheists too. Or if that’s too out there for you, cry to the great coder-behind-the-screen, who programmed our simulation. Whatever flaming O’s you flamingoes need to dance through to get your head out of your ass.

You can choose whatever you want and have it, so long as you commit to it fully. This means intending to have it, being thankful for it before you have it, and surrendering to it. You don’t get to choose how you get it. You will only get pissy results that way or ignore the gifts our heavenly Father has placed before you. So when you do choose, give yourself to it fully, as the skilled lover does to the love of his night. I am fully present with her there, in that moment. She is all that I can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear.

Speaking of, I can hear mama sighing with exhaustion. I think I will choose to comfort her tonight. Only because I’m such a selfless guy and admire how selflessly she sacrifices her own comforts for that of her child. My motives are pure. I promise.

You’re a Dumb Baby

Well, reader. I must say you’ve outdone yourself. It must be thanks to my phenomenal teaching.

I thought we’d have a little more time between sections, but it seems you’ve so quickly chosen to press forward that you find me here with my little peach. We’ve done nothing unseemly, I promise. I was merely warming her beneath the covers. Sometimes, a mommy needs herself a daddy after giving away so much. Have you no compassion? Turn your attention elsewhere for a moment while I dress. Like the baby. Make sure that nasty Black Cube isn’t trying to ensnare him again.

Now that I’m back in my regal-god garb, it’s time we had a heart-to-heart. That baby is you. Or rather, you have an inner baby just like him, whom you need to protect. But if I were an older man, you might be brothers. Just saying. He will be your brother, in time. Just as you and I are brothers. Before this starts sounding a little too Alabaman, let it be known that all of us in the kingdom are brothers.

Self-reliance is good, but a man amongst brothers is even better. The baby had no qualms about asking for what he wanted, nor should you.

Remember those fires I mentioned in the kingdom? Ask people to gather buckets, filled with our less-filthy water from the sacred lake. The shitting horses? Ask their owners to clean it up. The women who ignore you? Ask God for help with them, because the Lord knows you need a miracle.

The point is not to make them do the thing. It is to shift your attention from catastrophizing. You are a free man. A free man does the thing most obvious to him. If you want something, like a healthy functioning kingdom, merely ask. You’d be surprised what you get.

Your homework this week is the toughest yet. You need to find and smash the parasites. No more passive observation, no more running them away with your lantern. Each time they return, you’ve got a baby dick again.

You’ve got to find where these parasites are getting in. Repair the castle walls, trap those parasites, and bring the wrath of your warhammer down upon them. Once you do, you’ll find those fires, the shit, and (maybe) the women all work themselves out. When you’re no longer in fix-it mode, building becomes a lot easier. Choosing correctly what you truly want becomes possible.

So, equip your warhammer. Cast your Spirit Vision. If it cools down, cast it again. Go hunt some parasites.

And don’t forget the stipend for my s—I mean, the baby I’ve grown so fond of. Such a cool little guy.

I love him.