Rape through electronic manipulation by Abusive IdIoTTwins

Rape through electronic manipulation really has everything to do with the brain. All these idiots have to do is have a machine stimulate through electric-magnetic waves where the brain controls the sexual responses and they are raping you, touch free. There’s not even a sick, sweaty, stupid bastard there to hit, blow their brains out, or chop their dicks off. They keep over stimulating me because that’s what the IdIoTTwins do. Everything has to be done to such a sickening over-the-top, three-ring-circus type of way that it usually overloads the senses of the victims and they literally don’t know what hit them. It doesn’t work on post-menopausal me. It hurts like fingernails inside my vagina scratching through all the sensitive tender flesh. It makes me sick at my stomach and makes me want to pass out at the same time, but it sure does not make me feel like sex. So I just cuss the assholes until they finally quit. They are hurting me like nails ripping my vaginal flesh right now. I feel sick right now.  I will not have sex with my husband ever again unless I know the IdIoTTwins have gone.  I can’t even make it through a shower without freaking out thinking of those sick bastards watching me.  I sure cannot have sex.  And it hurts like hell, so no way.  I am sure that when I get rid of the IdIoTTwin illness, I won’t have to worry about my female self suffering from so much pain.  But even if it does hurt, at least I won’t have sick, perverted leeches living vicariously through my husband.

My only hope is to keep exposing them. I feel my train of thought jumping all over the place. It’s hard to expose someone when they can scramble your thoughts and make it hard to put words together to make a point.

The IdIoTTwins are frustrated when they don’t get their way to the point of just screaming things out. They are upset when they do get their own way because nothing can ever be done fast enough for them. Now they have my husband walking around the house yelling out stupid stuff, like “If you are tired, then go to bed!” Well, I’ve been told by medical staff, who I am sure were working directly for the IdIoTTwins, to NOT take a nap when I am sleepy because it messes up my sleep schedule. It’s just cruel though, when I am never allowed to get any real sleep. Now people must be noticing, so the IdIoTTwins are commanding me to go take naps, which just pisses me off and then I can’t sleep, no matter how tired I am. I’d rather cut their balls off and shove them down their throats. I am that angry most of the time from having to deal with these assholes.

They have my husband screaming “read a book!” Well, I used to read almost non-stop. Now I can’t make it through a chapter. I keep falling asleep. I can’t concentrate enough to follow the story through from paragraph to paragraph, chapter to chapter. I’m sure it has been noticed that I have had a sharp decline in mental ability since I used to read several books at once. It’s the IdIoTTwins’ faults. How dare they abuse me and then scream at me when I can’t function anymore. I’m not going through the motions of reading a book just to get them off the hook.

Now they are screaming at me for dodging my husband when he goes to kiss me and for my voice cracking when he is near. It is from fear. Then they get angry. I’m afraid of the IdIoTTwins. I have every right to fear those murdering bastards. They are trying to intimidate me into acting in such a way that they get off the hook. No. I don’t fear them more than I love my sister. The fear I have of them does not begin to cover the passionate, self-sacrificing love I have for my sister and my husband. While I have to be nice to my husband, it is like being nice to someone with the flu. I love my husband and want him to get better. I hate the flu and want it killed. Terry and Kerry are the flu. I hate them and I want them dead and eradicated from our lives. I am getting rid of the slimy, snotty, disgusting clingy IdIoTTwins. They are getting out of our lives and our families’ lives.

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