Welcome to the children's canon.

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by Mrs Jessica Simpson © 2007-2023

[ the Unintentional Aquanaut ]

Series Number: [ 3 ]

The holy monk of God and their many monkley screams of despair is clearly heard, but who is screaming? You, .. in observing it! – Or  is it going on all around you? – Are you mad? – Or is it all madness!

God’s holy Plan ‘B’ has been activated, .. which she’s officially described as her ultimate solution to (the Other) mess.

Unfortunately, it also has the undesirable side-effect of triggering the total biological destruction of all life on Earth, but this mental pause has halted it: because [ you ] my dear reader, are the consummate consumer that eventually triggers it.

[ Attention ]

the gothic letter This WOKE notice of dire warnings, is generated at the behest of the author: comprising of a legally binding cautionary message.

A warning message that exclusively focuses on (some) of the disturbing subjects and concepts that’s found in (some) parts of this far reaching narrative.

The Unintentional Aquanaut books presented here, are not for the faint hearted.

Consideration, .. this storyline alone: is what actually warranted the Age-Gate Restriction code to be installed on the front entrance of this website: it also blocked up all other hidden back-passages as well, the php code is a personal restrictive barrier to my own exposed back end, that you yourself accepted to be true, (by the way), when coming in here.

First Warning: So! – If you are offended by (really nasty) derogatory references to sex, race and gender, then please go no further, this tale of two halves of a (hole : bitch), because it really does contain derogatory references to sex race and gender.

As a series of books, (volumes) goes: then I can tell you that it simply reflects a diary’s blunt writing style of a very cynical 70’s man, made all the more bitter by his treatment at the hands of his kidnappers.

An experience that (initially), left him feeling like an embittered belittled victim.

A repressed trapped victim who also never thought in a gazillion years, that his own private journal would ever see the light of day, (but it has), and as such: it’s not what’s called PC for today’s WOKE and sheltered audiences.

Author’s Note:-[ Read more ]

These extensive journals are basically the intimate muses of a human male, illegally held in the company of hell-spawn demons, but demons with hearts of gold, (all five of them.)

Five is also the divine holy number that matches the primary trading races of yesteryear.

Inhuman traders and hawkers ranging from the mighty (Trolls), and then right down to the industrious (Dwarves.)
Middling in this primitive melee’, is where the (Water Nymphs) live: who also do lunch rather well, but no one ever talks about the crappy burrowing (Worms.)
Residing above all of them however, and lounging all day long in their fine silver gossamer nets strung out like hammocks, are the well established ** (Elvin) traders.

** Who are the most despicable old race that you’ll ever meet, they are an ancient peoples that you also have to be very very wary of, .. mainly because of their infamous nefarious double dealings, that the disreputable traders publicly and proudly boast about.

You can also bet your bottom dhaler, – dat’ dem’ thieving blighters is’ bloomin-well observing what you get up to, and the scullions market stall traders do it through the eyes of their many bastardised children, .. skittering scurrying youngling fae and larger urchins, all counted in their many hundreds, (of billions), that are probably watching you, even now!

** The old bygone ancient races have been factually mentioned here, for the legal reasons of full disclosure and due diligence in committing a tort. A legal fact that the kidnap victim overlooked when he was finally taken to court for octopod misrepresentation.

With that tort out of the way, we can now quickly move on into our own unknown futures, comprising of a sanctioned copyright placement: where we can openly discuss the kidnapped victim’s sorry tale, ..

** Got it? – It’s not *my* story as such, but nevertheless; it’s all copyrighted content that I claim as my own. Also: when you see the words tasty and taster, then be aware that the dispersing tempo of the story is being stepped up a gear.

Second and final warning: If you are offended by derogatory references to sex, race and gender, then I really mean it when I say go no further.

This is (it), you have been formally warned to turn round and leave now if you are of a nervous disposition.

Just don’t come whining and complaining to me later: that you didn’t like what you’ve read, especially with the rampant thoughts that you’ve been rudely exposed too, now taking over your life.

Before you blindly go any further in your own personal journey, (as the legal consumer), you really need to keep this salient fact in mind: that you can’t unsee a pink elephant, (with yellow stripes) going over a zebra crossing, with the zebra squealing in pain at being trampled on by a three and a half ton African elephant. As she also blindly moves forward on her own personal journey. Yes, the pink elephant is female.

Go that? – None of the tasty stuff above can be unseen or unlearned, and it’s the same with the heavyweight tasters presented below.

In this journals legal copy-written pages, our alleged (victim) has been open upfront and honest with himself in filling in his own tasty diary, and has done so throughout: done like that because he never considered that other people would ever read the thing.

What that (also) means, .. is that this tasty narrative, actually represents an in depth glimpse of what a real man really thinks. A real man who’s (also) been taken out of time; whose exciting time was (also) in the early 70s in New York (USA.)

Where it really was a whole other tasty taster of a ball game.

A jolly bouncy place, where the filthy money grabbing (pushers) were nearly always black scumbag niggers, (coloured folk), happily peddling their filth in the dark alleys to the Grease-Ball-Spiks, (ethnic Latinos), with all of them gaily dealing on the many corners in the sprawling Queens boroughs, (and others), all flogging their (cut shit) back to the dumbass half-wit punk kids.

Not black nor white you’ll note, because profit is color blind, and dumbass half-wit punk kids come in lots of (cash-rich) flavors.

This, however, is not a happy story of what went on on these mean-streets, but more of an unhappy tale of what went on above all of their ignorant half-wit punk heads, and also what went on below their sullen slovenly dragging Brooklyn laden feet.

It was an age old Aquarius (Happening), that actually happened a while back, and actually at a time when market forces drove on the famous shifting Jonas Bronck tectonic plates.

Where a Queen’s fortune could be won and lost overnight, or sometimes in the course of one hour.

Especially after finding a family of mutilated Elvin bodies stuffed down a well behind a large luxurious house out in the Burbs, with the head man in the surveying department: missing his head sat quite still, and quite dead in the spaciously decorated living room.

In the background, the fine silver nets were blowing gently in the warm pleasant wind, and were gaily doing directly behind the retired surveyor.

          • OH’ happy days.

Now, .. dive in and get (down) and (dirty) with someone else’s private Etchings Man, Turn On, Tune In, and Drop Out, but don’t forget one key thing as you do indeed tune-in turn-on drop-out, the subject of these writings is a 70s man, .. a man with manly thoughts and appetites from that unfettered era.

So in actually reading (his) journal, you might well find yourself shocked when you realise that you’re sympathizing with his simple sardonic point of view, .. finding out that you’re secretly quite alike.

Or! – You may equally find yourself (un)-naturally mortified at feeling so alien when exposed to his frank rhetoric, .. and then even perhaps regaling in horror with what’s written herein.

Additionally, .. I’d like you to kindly remember this salient fact before you, (apart from the fact that these tales aren’t for the faint hearted), and that is that these tales may even be deemed as illegal in some of the less salubrious countries found out there, all located around our own our small insignificant little globe.

Backward barbaric small minded countries that attempt to restrict free-thought, but the Internet changes all that, and in that free flow: the repressive thought authorities can’t stop you from possessing these weighty tomes.

Authoritative regimes that have no ‘Freedom of Speech‘ built into what passes for their laughable Constitution, just be grateful for being American folks, .. (God bless America.)

Hallelujah! – (Old Jewish Saying) – Oy’ Vey!


Thanks for reading, Jessica: Praise be the ORI.


The books listed in this series are as follows:-

Day Break

Book Number [ 1 ]

He’s been kidnapped by large mechanical octopuses, or octopodes if you want to get technical, but they are now called octpi in some of the more refined niche circles. And the circles of complex deception that the mighty squids weave round him are complex and inhuman, but never cruel.

[ click the link above to read more ]

Chasing Dawn

Book Number [ 2 ]

He knows what he’s up against, but knee-tremblers are for bloody kids for Christ’s sake: there-again, life as they say; goes on, with the lifers taking a lot of shit, as well as doing some in the process: because even the screws have to go somewhere. Shore-leave, but fuck me was that ever good. Trouble is he knows that he’s gonna pay for it, and pay big time at that.

[ click the link above to read more ]

Dawn Till Dusk

Book Number [ 3 ]

There’s nothing worse than having insects in bed with you, well maybe not. And as everyone knows: only gods sleep with them anyhow. Our man is now a demigod unto the others, but he’s still tied into a downward spiral of depression, being surrounded by a thick un-breathable atmosphere will do that to you.

[ click the link above to read more ]

Casting Shadows

Book Number [ 4 ]

Being all alone is something that our kidnapped victim can’t seem to manage, but there again: is a demigod ever really alone with their godly thoughts?

[ click the link above to read more ]

This is a (kiss-n-tell-tale) like no other, because its snarling drawn back puckered lips covered in blood, speaks quite elegantly of a Never-Ending-Story.

An ongoing narrative that concerns the missing time-line of our own history, a cherished past that’s been callously ripped up and torn to shreds: which means that we are all living the lie, but none of us even know it.

This heinous crime against mankind was committed by a mysterious terrorist group, that the tCouncil from our distant future; have simply called (the Others), and that’s simply because in all of known time; no one has ever come forward and claimed responsibility for totally disgracing God’s most holy master plan for humanity, ..

Here we are, .. (Masters of the Universe), .. and also at the very start, that eventually saw God’s perfect master-plan left in tatters in one hellish place, but right inside another sacred dimension: the graceful heavenly undertaking mapped out for humanity was hopelessly lost.

In the opening unguarded void, the human-race independently evolved and grew strong on the unsanctioned planet.

Resulting in the (Children of God) knowing their true place in the universe, a place where the superior aliens forged a profitable path out into the ever expanding trading cosmos, but this wasn’t written in the stars: this Utopia wasn’t part of the holy edict that God had envisaged for mankind, this version of hell would ultimately end in tears.

The holy monk of God and their many monkley screams of despair is clearly heard, but who is screaming? You, .. in observing it! – Or  is it going on all around you? – Are you mad? – Or is it all madness!

God’s holy Plan ‘B’ has been activated, .. which she’s officially described as her ultimate solution to (the Other) mess.

Unfortunately, it also has the undesirable side-effect of triggering the total biological destruction of all life on Earth, but this mental pause has halted it: because [ you ] my dear reader, are the consummate consumer that eventually triggers it.

Everything has a beginning, even God had her own creation story, but this unholy origin tale was found buried in the back end of a lower slurry bed filing cabinet, physically located under the bogs designation drive.

Its dubious location can not be legally challenged either, because the holy index system used on the first forbidden tome doesn’t lie, the encryption employed on the encrusted bowel tumblers physically can’t: its bound.

After fully digesting the first explosive scroll, it becomes apparent why this report was buried as it was, the compact story that’s been laid out bare here; loosely describes how our corrupted time-line really got passed, parasitic worms and all.

You're part of the stand-alone Library section, (a thing!)

Click on another Book in the Series of interest below, ..

- And then (as before), peruse the Book(s) held within.

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October 2023


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