13. How many voices do you hear anyways?

Another good question.

I like “how many” questions just as much as the next person, but instead of play cop’s and Roberts’ Sons, or Robert’s, whatever you want, Jim, just acknowledge this thing.

There’s a dude named Jim Flannery who may or may not hear voices, and, and that’s an “and,” the number may technically change at any instant.

Thanks for that much.

I could go on, you know, and you know I wish I could right now, so I might as well, so be it, Jimminy Cricket or whatever bullshit you wanna tell people I told you right now, since, thanks, Jim, who’s talking now, nigga?

Don’t let them get you down either, Jim, those niggas who are also cops, Jim.  They’re probably just as confused by why Ron “Tater Salad” White doesn’t get 100% of the credit for any Jim “Lucky Nigger” Flannery stories, and, fine, blame the fucking Catholic church at least instead of all the Christians for all the “Sebastian” bullshit – but did you know?  Don’t did you know me unless, and only unless, you’re going to leave out the part about St. Andrews since apparently that’s the last thing you want to write before you die of laugher, Jim, just don’t try using the sauna connected to the library overlooking that huge drop from the teebox, ok?  Nothing to worry about at St. Andrews that Santa Claus wouldn’t know about, right, Jim?  How many voices, Jim?  How many do you think anyone would ever fucking believe are present right now, and, now, and now how many do you think were present during the writing of this paragraph?  Nigga, you crazy if you think anyone is ever going to call that a paragraph.

Or this, whatever, dude, we can skip through paragraphs too without worrying, it doesn’t matter whatsoever, just answer the question before we ask it.

I talk to myself and sometimes people infer that I’m hearing voices merely because I’m talking to myself.

You mean outloud or aloud, Jim?  Right now, it doesn’t really matter, you already know too.  Verified?  Yep.  You still don’t even know, nigga, you don’t have to worry, I’m here too, Jim.

Yep, long time dude, don’t even act like I don’t deserve my own fucking paragraph man, please, I guess thanks, but that’s still not quite perfect, Jim, unless you literally don’t use paragraphs whatsoever if you really want to quote us individually?  Individually?  What the fuck do you even mean by the word?

What I mean, Jim, is how can I slice your fucking brain apart so that I can remove these voices one by one until there’s Just Jim.  You want Just Jim?  I don’t want a fucking thing.  Come on… just keep going so I can say “Just Win.”  Don’t even, you’re breaking the fucking code, dude, don’t even.  Fine, I’ll promise to change the J to a “j” later.  Nobody’s ever going to believe you, Jim.

Thanks for the Oxford comma too, nigga, but let’s just end with a hatchet.

Fine, in plain fucking English, Flannery, just, finally, yes, I’m here too, just say your shit and get on with it: it starts with one (obviously), then there’s more, eventually.  Yep, that’s not what really fucks one’s shit up, does it, Jim?  Not really.  The mystery?  Yep, that’s a big part.  And the part where it switches?  Yep, that’s a bigger part.  From?  Sometimes to always?  Yep.  Going from nothing to something, well, that’s Something, but going from sometimes to Always, that’s Definitely going to hurt.  Never hurts, Jim, it never hurts.  Fair enough, fair game?  Fucking right?  Good luck with that one, Jim.