I hafta process what I have just witnessed...
Y'know, when I say I was taken advantage of by a cult, that's true. That's how they operated and controlled those of us that got scooped up into that government reconditioning program. It was Love School, as it was casually referred to in passing, and I learned and grew so much as lil baby q doing as us counterintelligent retards do.
Near the end, we were staying on this large property situated on a mountain. One guy there, clearly a member of a foreign intelligence agency posing as a Belgian flat-earther I know now in present Knowledge, he taught me something just before leaving. It's difficult to explain exactly how he taught me this, but the gist of it was "if you're going to poop, do it far away," where "poop" equals "cheating."
Why is that? Well, you never know when the person you're cheating on will see you with your mistress or whatever. Case-in-point: my narcissistic manipulator of a life partner who may be working with his entire family to manipulate me so he ultimately manipulates the state into giving him disability. That's not certain, but I see how everything he does lines up with that, such as how he very aberrantly reacts to even mentioning his mother, who plays her role very well as the "pissed off worried mother" who will be the second witness to get her son "help."
What I mean is, he won't talk to her, runs outta the room when she stopped by, and skillfully shuts down any conversation mentioning her. I just saw him, definitively him with his dopey posture and threadbare shirt he wears to prove he doesn't care, get into his mom's hatchback that I've ridden in once. Didn't get a good look at the driver, but same frilly hair.
Oh, I forgot to mention that I saw this because I tried getting him his laptop ordered to have the bank tell me he tried using defunct cards of mine to make an unknown purchase, which would have made it impossible to get his laptop that he does not assist in any way, me being differently abled and having trouble with financial stuffs, while simultaneously barraging me with the necessity of getting this $1500 dollar laptop so he can browse Reddit, write two poems he doesn't share a year, and do a grand total of 48 hours of programming all at once.
I don't know what to feel right now. I think it prudent if I just give them rope and see how much they hang themselves.