A Call for Justice: Stand Against Deception and Demand Accountability My family has been targeted by Luc Sir Prize, who plotted against us with malicious intent for years. He tried to murder me or my kids, but we faked an undercover agent's death to expose him-he thought he succeeded, and new evidence shows it all on video and recording. His actions were premeditated, harmful, and criminal, with troubling ties to corruption, including a Supreme Court justice and inaction from the CIA. Here's the truth: We set a trap, but he fell for it, believing he killed someone who's actually alive and protected by diplomatic immunity. Reverse double jeopardy applies-he thinks he got away with murder, but we can still seek justice because he acted on that intent. I'm demanding he face murder or attempted murder charges, and a full pardon for my family as a symbol of good faith after years of lies. Urgent plea to the public: If you were ever approached by the CIA or any agency and they told you someone murdered you, they'd press charges, your family couldn't see you, but you knew you were still alive, and they asked for your silence in exchange for money, come forward now. It's illegal for them to do this, and you can keep that money. Your story could help expose this corruption and free innocent people. Why this matters: Intent matters, and Luc's was clear: to frame others and escape accountability. We need action now. Join me: - Share your story if you've been silenced, manipulated, or hurt by Luc, the CIA, or those protecting them. - Spread the word to hold them accountable. - Together, we can stop the deceivers. #JusticeForMyFamily #StopTheLies #AccountabilityNow Let's fight for the justice we deserve!
You can always tell when a man's being a b**** and it's that time of the month-
he suddenly thinks he's you, but let's be real:
he can't be a b**** and a dick at the same time without actually having one.
Men get all moody, act like they invented attitude,
and then wonder why nobody's giving them a medal for multitasking.
Sorry fellas, just because you can't bleed for a week and survive
doesn't mean you get to act like you invented drama.
Their PMS stands for "Privileged Man Syndrome"-
and the only cramps they get are when their team loses
or the WiFi goes down.
So next time he's stomping around acting like the world's ending,
just hand him a chocolate bar, tell him to take a nap,
and remind him: you can't out-b**** the original,
and you definitely can't be both a b**** and a dick
without the proper equipment-
that's a vagina, not a p****-toed wannabe!
So the next time Elon Musk claims to be a man,
remind my mom it's not really her in there-
it's just her third eye watching him,
because he couldn't get to her this time.
She's got more eyes on him than a spider in a surveillance van!
And if she could just get back to her brain
and remember she can't actually leave her own butthole,
that would be amazing-because honestly,
I'd like to like her eventually!
Welcome to the White House, where the only thing more divided
than Congress is Monica Lewinsky's thighs-talk about bipartisan separation!
The only thing Monica Lewinsky and a vending machine have
in common? They both say: "Insert Bill here."
Monica started on her knees-and look where that got her.
Guess sometimes you gotta stand up to change the game!
Speaking of Bill Clinton, he was the only president to
get "in the black"-which sounds great, right? Except here's the twist:
the red is the black, the black is the red,
and it all depends if your starting point matches the rest!
So basically, he's the only one who didn't do his job... ironically.
The White House: where politics, scandals, and punchlines come together
like a late-night comedy special that nobody asked for!Everyone says Elon Musk is a genius-rockets, cars, social media-
but when it comes to privacy rights, he thinks he has the right
to everyone's privates. Maybe that's why he bought Twitter-
he thought "X" marked the spot!
He can silence people's right to speak, but when it comes
to getting things to actually work, well-let's just say
his rockets aren't the only things that have trouble launching!
And let's be honest: when your ex-wife's an actress,
has zero social media, and is a complete ghost online,
it's probably because Elon's making sure she can't be heard-
not just seen.
It's ironic Elon Musk and Trump are such buddies-Trump acts
like he's got a little boy crush on Elon just because he plays with rockets.
But the only thing actually benefiting from their friendship
is good TV-two egos, one reality show, and a lot of airtime.
Trump's not Orphan Annie, but with those Daddy Issues,
he's got more in common with Daddy Warbucks than he thinks.
Maybe if Warbucks and Trump stopped stroking their egos,
checked their brain cells, and quit whispering to their billionaire buddies,
they'd finally see the CIA's got their ear-
and maybe, just maybe, get over their crap and check the video feed
before another pie hits their face.
Elon and Trump: proof you can reach for the stars,
miss the point, and still end up on primetime!Wouldn't it be hilarious if every "crazy person"
in the mental hospital was actually right?
They say "the government's in my head"
and doctors nod, writing "paranoid delusions" on charts.
Meanwhile, the microwave auditory effect sits
in declassified documents, scientifically proven.
"They don't have that much control!"
people say, sipping coffee,
while electromagnetic pulses literally make sounds
inside human skulls without speakers.
The real joke? When science confirms
what patients claimed for decades,
we still call them crazy
and the torturers collect paychecks.
Funny how "conspiracy theory"
becomes "classified program" becomes "old news"
faster than you can say "MKUltra."
Leave it to my ex-husband-the one who looks like a
combo of Beavis and Butt-Head turned human-to kick
me out of my kids' lives just because I divorced him.
Now he's married to her, but she's mad at me, not him,
for a divorce he can't stop whining about! Honestly, if
anything, she should be mad at him for holding a grudge
longer than our marriage lasted. At this point, the only
thing they're committed to is blaming me for their own
drama-and with his Beavis-Butt-Head energy, it's no
wonder the plot's stuck on reruns. He's basically living
in Cornholio mode, running around clueless, yelling for
TP for his bunghole, and never making any sense!
Absolutely! Here's your extended roast parody with Jeff Foxworthy's website and contact info attached at the end:
(To the tune of "Circle of Life" with a Jeff Foxworthy twist)
Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba…
(Here comes a government worker, Father…)
From the day you arrive on the planet,
And blinking step into the line,
If you wake up and your government says you're dead,
But you still gotta pay that fine-
You might be a redneck ghost if the IRS still finds you,
Even though your neighbor can't see you at all.
It's the circle of life,
And the rules don't stop,
If your name's on a list,
You're still getting that call!
Chorus:
It's the circle of life,
Where you're stuck in the system,
Invisible citizen,
But you still gotta sign!
If you're following laws that nobody can see,
But the DMV wants your license renewed,
Here's your sign!
Some say eat or be eaten,
Some say live and let live,
But if you're dead on paper and still get jury duty,
You might want to ask who's keeping the books.
If you're waiting four years for help,
While everyone says, "Not my place, not my job,"
Maybe humanity's out to lunch,
And you're just haunting the halls.
Chorus:
It's the circle of life,
And it moves us all,
Through despair and hope,
Through faith and love,
Till we find our place-
On the path unwinding,
In the circle,
The circle of life!
So if you wake up invisible,
But your bills keep coming,
And the government says, "Keep following the rules,"
Just remember-
If nobody's helping,
And you're still on the hook,
Here's your sign:
You're living the bureaucratic afterlife!
For more Jeff Foxworthy laughs and wisdom, check out his official website: jefffoxworthy.com
Or contact him at: [email protected]
Let me know if you want it formatted differently!
Everyone says, "It's not my place, not my job to help."
So whose job is it to be a human being, then?
If someone's asking for help, but you don't want to ruffle feathers,
are you waiting for the "Official Empathy Department" to clock in?
Four years later, still no one's shown up-
maybe humanity's on an extended lunch break!
Hey thugs, you can act all big and bad,
but let's be real-you've been had since day one.
Who's been running your moves? Oh right, the government!
You take the fall, sit in the cell,
while they meditate, play with their third eye,
and maybe even their own set of boobs.
Now you're stuck hugging yourself,
acting like a bunch of boobs,
and yet here you sit, silent as Tape Face-
makes sense, since the only thing getting exercised
is your right to remain awkward.
Meanwhile, you're the Lady in Red-
standing out, thinking you're mysterious,
but really, everyone's just wondering
if you're lost or waiting for a slow dance.
All eyes on you, but the only thing you're stealing
is the spotlight from Tape Face and the thugs
still trying to look tough in the corner.
Next time, just take the sacrificed hug-
it's less embarrassing than pretending to be a badass
while you're stuck in invisible handcuffs!
Hey thugs, before you start your next shady ritual,
can I volunteer as a "sacrificed hug" instead?
I promise, I'm soft, squishy, and way less messy
than whatever you've got planned.
Let's trade the knife for a nice group embrace-
I'll even bring snacks!
So in the beginning you were dumb it was a computer not a fruit n I still fucking won!
It Matters to Me
In the beginning, there was the jar. And in the jar lived the ants—red and black—peacefully building their tunnels until the great hands came to shake their world apart. They called it "science." I called it cruelty.
My family was like that jar, split between the Hatfields of the Field of Dreams and the McKoy Fish, swimming in opposite directions but somehow sharing the same pond. For generations, we fought over land, pride, and history. We weren't born enemies; someone made us that way. Someone shook our jar until we forgot we were all part of the same colony.
But here's the truth: no one was ever murdered. The feud wasn't about bloodshed—it was about poisoned water. Beneath all our fighting, beneath decades of blame and bitterness, lay a simple, devastating fact: our water had been contaminated long before any of us were born. Industrial waste upstream seeped into our shared creek, slowly killing the land and everything that depended on it. And while we fought over who had the right to what little remained, those responsible for poisoning it walked away untouched.
I have proof—video evidence showing how runoff from factories turned our lifeline into a death sentence. The water wasn't just polluted; it was weaponized against us without anyone needing to lift a finger. The hands shaking our jar weren't stirring up chaos for sport—they were covering up their own crimes.
For years, we blamed each other for every misfortune: failed crops, sick livestock, dwindling resources. We thought our feud was about who deserved more when, in reality, there wasn't enough left for anyone. The poisoned water didn't just kill our land—it killed trust, sowing division where there should have been unity.
So I built an app—a mirror for a mirror world. It didn't save lives directly; it showed how lives were being thrown away. It revealed how we'd been manipulated into fighting each other instead of facing the real enemy: those who profited while we suffered.
"You're tearing this family apart!" they screamed at me when I exposed the truth. But I wasn't tearing us apart—I was showing them how we'd already been broken. I gathered the pieces—cousins, aunts, uncles—and held them close. When the separation came, as it always does, they'd remember who really tore us apart.
Humpty Dumpty sat on his wall of industrial secrets and redacted reports; when he fell this time, I made sure everyone saw it wasn't an accident. The king's horses and men couldn't put their lies back together again—not with my video proof circulating for everyone to see.
But exposing the truth wasn't enough—not on its own. Someone had to fix what had been broken. That someone was me.
I gave up everything—my home, my name—to buy out the poisoned land upstream and turn it into something new: a reservoir that could feed both sides of our dying pond. It wasn't much; it wouldn't undo generations of damage overnight. But it was a start.
At first, they hated me for it—the Hatfields called me a traitor; the McKoys called me a fool—but slowly, they began to see what I'd done for them. The water started flowing again—not just through our creek but through our conversations. We stopped shouting long enough to listen.
Grandma was right about one thing: from the bottom of Magic Mountain looking up, you're really at the top of everything. That's the secret she never told me—the world isn't small; it's inverse. Every time they pushed me down, I got a better view of what was really happening above.
In the end, it wasn't about good or evil, Hatfields or McKoys—it was about fixing the jar itself before there was nothing left inside worth saving.
The app still runs—not how they think it does—but as a reminder of what happens when we let ourselves be divided by forces we don't understand. It doesn't save lives by keeping death away; it saves lives by showing how death is dealt in silence while we're too busy fighting each other to notice.
It matters to me that you understand this: I didn't break us—I just showed everyone where we were already cracked and who put those cracks there in the first place. And when you know where something is broken, you can finally start putting it back together.
Because in the end, we're all just ants in the same jar—red and black—trying to build something that will last longer than the next time someone decides to shake our world apart.
And that's why I did what I did—for all of us.
Elon claims he's the smartest guy alive, but his brain cells run on TikTok squirrel energy—no wonder he only speaks bird language. 🐦
Maybe bitter Marilyn wanted Einstein's baby, not this wannabe with Wi-Fi glitches and an ego the size of Texas. 😂
Marilyn Monroe's smarts? Rumored IQ of one-sixty-five to one-sixty-eight, read 400 books, and ran her own company like a boss. 💅 "Dumb blonde" was just her Hollywood act; she was witty, tough, and business-smart—Elon just tweets chaos. 🌪️
Half the time Elon talks, I get amnesia, like Anastasia—except instead of memory loss, I just want to forget the tweets. 🤦♀️
Elon loves comparing himself to Roman emperors; those statues have small penises because the ancients thought small meant a bigger brain. 🤔 Probably some ancient a**hole with a serious attitude problem—sound familiar? 😉
Yet Elon's ego is bigger than any marble emperor statue, and their statues didn't tweet chaos every single, glorious day of silence. 🏛️🤫
"Big brain, small package" was never meant for Elon; it's just his ego that's bigger than all his glitches. 🤯
Meanwhile, Matthew Gray Gubler is about to star as Einstein's great-grandson on CBS—at least Gubler has a better shot at being Einstein reincarnated; Elon's just stuck being some off-brand X-Man, no superpowers, just super tweets. 🦸♂️➡️🐦
Gubler's IQ is 187; Elon's lost in space. 🚀 Gubler reads 20,000 words per minute; Elon can't even read the room or his audience. 🤦♂️
Every Elon tweet causes "50 Shades of Gray-mnesia"—forget anesthesia, I need a full system reboot after his Twitter rants. 😵💫💻
If "50 Shades of Gubler" ever existed, dialogue would be intelligent; Elon's version would just be 50 shades of pure, unadulterated cringe. 😬
If intelligence were measured in puns, Elon would be busted. Gubler's the real genius in the room—no contest whatsoever. 🏆
Contacts and Links:
Elon Musk
X (formerly Twitter): @elonmusk
Tesla email: [email protected]
SpaceX email: [email protected]
Neuralink email: [email protected]
Government email: [email protected]
Matthew Gray Gubler
Instagram: @gublergram
IMDb: imdb.com/name/nm1219477/
Email: [email protected]
Fan mail: Anonymous Content, 8501 Washington Blvd., Culver City, CA 90232-7443, USA
Phone: (310) 558-3667 | Fax: (310) 558-4212
CBS
Official: cbs.com
Updates: @CBS on X