Transcript: Boggsmith Testament Gathering for VIP Position

 

Mistrop, Illinois. 1/11/2026

Pg. 14

C.O. here, and happy post-Unplug and Breathe Day 2026.

I'll cut to the chase and get down to business as I open a new tequila bottle. The news of Cassidy Boggsmith (Flordia, pending) becoming a Valuably Interesting Person of the Independent States of North America brings ambivalent sentiments ranging from absolute rage to shocking praise.  I find myself somewhere in the middle.

For the uninformed, Cassidy Boggsmith is a Florida native on deck for the 52nd seat of the VIP crony coalition. Previously held by senior VIP Smegma Scooter (who commences their early retirement later this year in the Bahamas), the Florida VIP position marks an "X"-rated spot for Boggsmith and her formidable beliefs.

As always, I'll let the transcript speak/read for itself, but I won't interject like usual. Much of the Boggsmith Testament Gathering dialogue won't require necessary annotation here. I enjoy just perusing these conversations between Boggsmith and the VIP lineup of snakey suspects.

Of course, you can view the full transcript on our VOCAL CONCERNS website and the city of Mistrop's judicial link. We'll give you the ending arguments before the VIPs confirmed their newest member days later.

Next issue, we'll probably talk about Clint Torres' stance on dead-set abortion, given the track record of the VIP collective.

Cheers.

- 1/7/2026 - (STATE OF ILLINOIS OFFICIAL DOCUMENT/FILE RETRIEVAL - PROPERTY OF MISTROP COURT SYSTEM, DO. 409772)*

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HALEY HUMANFIRE (HEAD/VIP OF TEXAS): Thank you vividly, Mr. Simpatico, for your closing remarks on illegal trade and slavery sympathy with Mrs. Boggsmith. We'll go ahead and move forward with Mr. Buck Smith's comments on Mrs. Boggsmith's potential designation. Mr. Smith, please.

BUCK SMITH (VIP OF UTAH): (Smith spits into a tin bowl) Much obliged there, Head Humanfire. For my regards, I'd like to personally thank Mrs. Boggsmith for portraying such a brave picture of what an Independent State of Northern America citizen ought to be. Never mind the opposing lobby folks who don't get you. I do. We (Smith gestures to the marble-laden courthouse occupied by the press and VIPs) get you.

(Smith speaks as if he's representing an entire town committee, supported by sympathetic arm gestures.)

CASSIDY BOGGSMITH: It is my absolute pleasure to hear such praise, Mr. Smith. (Boggsmith winks at Smith.)

SMITH: Please, my colleagues, friends, and white family members call me "El Gringo Grande." And I know my wife would be more than content to reassure her that I can cheat on her with you and not feel any guilt. "Just business" is what I always say!

(Maniacal laughs fill the room before quieting back to normalcy.)

SMITH: To serve as a VIP for the great Independent State of Florida, of our country, you must exemplify a promising, sexy fucking status as both a patriotic celebrity and someone with a dependable livelihood to maintain a picture-perfect portrait.

HUMANFIRE: Emphasis on "perfect," if you will.

(Humanfire says with drool running down the corner of her mouth.)

SMITH: Thank you, yes. Perfection always flows in your blood. You got charisma, and boy do you carry such weight with it. What more can you bring to the table by serving as Florida's VIP? Because I for damn sure will be cuffed, jailed, and emotionally harassed if all Hell breaks a-loose and things don't go our way!

BOGGSMITH: VIP "El Gringo Grande," it's not about what I can bring to this "table," but rather what can't I bring. We're always so focused on what's in front and what's in our pants, but what about the other side of the table? Unpopular views, for starters-

ANNAMARIE HARRIET SACKMORE (VIP OF ALABAMA): VIPs plus big numbers always equal out to being a perfect (Sackmore looks directly at a camera without confirming the live feed) Independent American!

HUMANFIRE: Out of turn, Sackmore!

BOGGSMITH: Please, I'd be happy to answer Sackmore's question once she learns to shut her fucking mouth up when someone else has the floor.

(Audible reactions spread through the room, including an expressive "Damn!" from the press floor.)

BOGGSMITH: "Perfect" is what we all strive for, whether we man up to admit it or not. You have to work to be perfect, dammit. (Boggsmith cracks open a cold bottle of beer from her lunch tray.) We're Independent Americans, but we don't live in a "perfect" land. Our own waters STILL have fish swimming, pissing, and shitting in them, and we're meant to live with that? I believe that (sips) plastics are God's handy tools to improve productivity for everyday human beings. If we pollute, so the fuck what?

(Murmurs of agreement and suspicion. Press photographic clicks fill the quiet moments.)

BOGGSMITH: We literally have Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Pluto to inhab- inhuba- I mean, populate. We're wasting resources on a dying planet that, quite frankly, is probably ready to get rid of us. Our own Lord and Savior is probably frowning at our mistakes as a human race!

GERALD WRINKLE (VIP OF WEST VIRGINIA): Exactly! I've been saying this for years - "fuck the Earth, move to Merc'"!

(Many members chant "Merc'" in low tones, though it creates a tone-deaf melody.)

BOGGSMITH: Mr. Wrinkle especially knows of this. (Sips) It's not dodgy - fuck, it's not even broke. Mercury is next door, and we can even use the Moon to grow crops. We forget this as a people, but science continues to lie to us and admit that the Moon is NOT a planet. Then why in Odin's treasure room is it round?

(Members audibly approve with orgasmic responses. The temperature in the VIP chamber steadily increases.)

HUMANFIRE: I believe you even carry a crescent tattoo on your right boob to hug and kiss the nipple. Very nice. I'm sure it goes well with your newest addition, Mrs. Boggsmith.

(Boggsmith gladly smiles while pulling down her white turtleneck, unveiling the "fuck adam" tattoo.)

BOGGSMITH: Women don't need an Adam or his apple, we're not flaking off chips of vaginal walls to prove our worth! My proposed act, the "Castrate and Seal Act," will settle the troubles women endure because of some lonely creature with a cheeto cock. Except for my husband (Boggsmith turns to admire Stewart Anderson, her husband, wearing a gimp suit with the mouth pocket zipped closed), I love you, darling.

(Anderson replies with a mumbled yet heartfelt response.)

BOGGSMITH: So, what CAN'T I bring to the table? Another pussy bitch for the world to laugh at. (Sips.) You need a woman like me in the VIP castle. Your colleagues like Ms. Hill and Ms. Black can only do so much with their limited views and age. (Boggsmith turns to acknowledge both women) No offense, ladies.

PATTISON HILL (VIP OF SOUTH CAROLINA): None taken. Show these fluid-munchers you mean business, babe.

BOGGSMITH: Thank you. And thank you again to Head Humanfire for allowing me to speak.

HUMANFIRE: Well, it's only fair we get to hear a decent share of your story, Mrs. Boggsmith. Your talk program, "Better Fetter," speaks on so many topics, but we felt it important to have a chat with you, as everyone else watches. A VIP knows how critical their role is here.

(Boggsmith sips.)

HUMANFIRE: Your beliefs on body perfection and military reinforcement may raise an eyebrow or two, but none in this room, behind the tables, with the suits and the big checks. (Humanfire chuckles, then coughs out a thick raindrop of mucus onto his ashtray.) With 52 states to look after and judge, I find your nomination a worthy ladder to climb and see where it goes.

SACKMORE: We all climb ladders, jump ropes, and open doors for those we care (Sackmore then looks to two cameras, performing double-takes to ensure connectivity) and we care about EVERYONE in this country.

(The press click their cameras away as the VIPs join in a shared applause. Mrs. Boggsmith crushes her beer can while admiring the non-stop flashes, comments, and laughter.)

HUMANFIRE: Without losing another minute, I nominate Cassidy Georgina Boggsmith as the state of Florida's Valuably Interesting Person.

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Pg. 17

- Caroline Osses, VOCAL CONCERNS Political Reporter

Bicker @carosses1

VOCAL CONCERNS, ISSUE 716

*Permission acquired through government clearance to obtain the spoken Gathering data obtained immediately after Boggsmith concluded her hearing. Boggsmith then awaited patiently for all 51 fellow VIPs to approve her nomination. During this time, a tattoo artist arrived and sat next to the new VIP for some artistic touch-ups. - C.O. of VC

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*Photo Credit: Marco Oriolesi

 

Film Checks Over Balances: Shedding Light on Henry Casanova

 

Mistrop, Illinois. 11/21/2025.

Pg. 6

My stomach turned and twisted like it usually does when I avoid a car crash once I saw Henry Casanova strike Leonard Brooks on the set of Augustus Germanicus Hobberknocker this past summer. A collective gasp followed, which quieted plenty of side talk with the crewmembers and actors dressed in retro gladiator and shining knight armor. But* I remember, distinctively, wanting to scream when Henry's voice erupted.

"Did I say to act 'jogged and screwed?'" Sir Director said aloud to a hunkering Brooks, who kept one hand to his cheek. His ancient voice reminded me of a disgruntled Sam Eagle. "What the hell was all that?"

With the sun beaming down on just around 300 of us, it was easy to see that everyone didn't know how to respond or even react. Maestro Slapper glanced toward one end like he was waiting for someone to speak up.

Thankfully, his assistant did.

"Mr. Cass, I think we should take a breather fro-"

"If I need a breather, I'd tell you to first stop, shut the hell up, and to secondly don't interrupt me while I- we! WE! We figure out the shot! Leave me, Jane. Now!" King Henry demanded.

If it weren't for Sassy Cassie's daughter disapproving barking, Heir Henry would've gone on to embarrass Brooks, Jane (real name Mag Bargo - the problematic director names all his assistants 'Jane' due to the rapid hiring rate with Casanova; Bargo is technically Jane #4 for Hobberknocker's production), the crew, and himself. "Quit this now, or you're uninvited to my wedding, Daddy!" Julianna Casanova remarked as she stood behind her father. Julianna celebrated her 22nd birthday earlier this year.

From there, daughter Casanova simply told everyone that the filming day "is now done, thank you everyone!" and that we'd continue the next day. The following morning, the production company, Lost Notion Productions, announced a "pause" in filming, which is still active as I write this.

The domino effect of Hobberknocker's troubles only stumbled from that moment.

Despite Lost Notion prohibiting recording of any kind on sets, they've allowed certain exceptions. Many found their way to the trash, though the few that surfaced paint a sour picture of what I can inscribe here.

After Hobberknocker's reported pause, several videos and photos show the Nova Khan screaming at extras for either not following cues or vice versa. "When the camera stops moving, sit your fat fucking ass down and wait! It's not science work or rocket nonsense! God!" the famed director kindly instructed.

"Too much frothing, I swear that it was- I mean, I guess that's how it were for a bit. He'd make a group of girls bark like dogs for a scene in 6 Boroughs of NYC. Where's that scene now? They cut it for a musical number instead." - Anonymous Extra

"I rather not talk about Department of Deception's final days of filming. Casanova knows that I'm a Black man, and he still made me play the slave owner. I had to get therapy after - no other way around it. Henry's racist, but that's, like, offensive to him." - Anonymous Extra

"[Casanova] didn't care how the lighting worked for a couple of shots. 'Who cares, I already got overpaid for this, they can touch it up in post.' I moved on to sound for his other movie, The War's Affair with Death, from 1985, but he ended up obsessing over Kajagoogoo and Double Lipstick D's. 'Too Shy' is like a torture tune to me now, I hate it." - Nelson Buzzard

Many commented on the film's status with Brooks' Bicker account announcing to withdraw from Casanova's newest project. "Careful direction comes from a caring heart. I'm afraid I don't feel such a connection. Therefore, I must work on other ends, stay busy still." The Bicker thread consumed plenty of replies, though the light talk quickly swindled into dirty dirt-digging.

Back in 2001, Casanova evaded a statutory rape charge involving then-15-year-old Jaimie Steinmetz. Now approaching her 40s, Steinmetz lives in Canada, escaping the public eye. The director in question denies any wrongdoing, yet substantial evidence obtained from social media interactions says otherwise.

Casanova can't sue me for bringing up his past, either. The Mistrop Corner and 104.1 Plugged both go at the notorious aging incel as if it's a part of their respective agendas. Bickers cloud his feed with poor words and photographic pieces of Steinmetz's case. Papa and Mama Casanova openly disown their son, like they're silently flipping the bird while smoking juicy hash in Europe.

And then there's Julianna, who somehow manages to tolerate her father's ill behavior. Why? My lightbulb points to the cruel appeal his movies bestow on certain audiences. All that filthy sex, uproarious action, and gut-wrenching gore? Someone is yearning for this mixture; cinematic aphrodisiac.

Casanova's films don't need a plot when all the tits, swords, and blood can satisfy many syrup-brained fools hungry for escapism and popcorn.

Waking up to the current movie's pause became a bittersweet moment for me. I'm out of a gig, sure, but other directors actually care about their babies. I love being a part of the production process, but is it really worth all the stress and forgotten ambition? Casanova still got paid millions, and he gets to walk away with the bag while the rest of his crew members await further orders.

Last I heard, he flew to another country to let off some "electric steam," whatever that means.

I said my piece. Excuse me while I fill out film applications for virtual realistic pornography. Getting paid to only use my likeness for weak men so they can rub one (or twelve) out to a computer screen? Cunt me in.

Pg. 9

- Rebecca Heinrich, Guest Post

Bicker @ beckonthis0v0

VOCAL CONCERNS, ISSUE 714

*Editor's Note: Heinrich's writing may not follow our traditional format and choice of grammatical flair, yet I choose not to omit her inceptive coordination of conjunctions. And why should I? Let the woman speak. - Delyna E. Bennett, VOCAL CONCERNS Editor-in-Chief

While we work against censorship in official publications, the "law" allows us to post the bowdlerized words here. Bear with us as we wrestle this annoying fucking hurdle. -DEB.

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Photo Credit (popcorn): Jaehoon Park

Photo Credit (woman): DeAndre Nevels (of Nevels Media)

 

"Up in Smoke: New Tech Demonstrates On-Site Punishments for Criminals"

 

Mistrop, Illinois. 8/2/2025.

Pg. 22

There's no surprise Mistrop Police Department officials are worn out by the omnipresent madness of violent crimes plaguing the city's streets. This brings the attention of CyByFly Solutions, who released new anti-burglary technology - while partnering with the MPD - to help businesses combat criminals.

"Chicago's wicked sister" or "Springfield's neglected mass of junk" is what some refer to Mistrop as, but the city is much more than these references. Mistrop is an evolving city led by intellectual minds and problem-solving pools that aim to introduce fixes for any issue.

Self-driving services roll down avenues, packing heat for any intrusive body. Chip trackers for essential workers and selected personnel allow for promised security. City-wide dispersion freshener systems help keep our streets smelling nice and clean.

It's also where my family grew up in the 1980s; Mistrop is home to me.

That's why I find certain Mistrop chronicles interesting to see unfold, such as new anti-crime technology making its way into the hands of the MPD. Especially if it involves killing someone without trying them in court.

Let me set the stage for you. James "Jim" Trench Sr. (78) owns JUNE near the industrial district, a perfect placement for businesses to fetch needed items quickly. "Jim's Used and New Essentials" undergoes constant traffic since it's right off the J. Rivers highway, but that also goes for greedy, hungry punks.

JUNE has been broken into three times in the last six months (2/25-8/25, as of writing), and Jim is fed up. In comes CyByFly Solutions and the MPD, who introduce to Jim the Bog Fog. The device's destination is under MPD-#I-708, but calling it the Bog Fog feels better to say with your neighbors. The shoebox-sized device sits in proximity to JUNE's safe, where lethal chemicals await inside to directly target any inhaler's lungs, temporarily knocking them out.

The initial patent for the machine also extends two noodle arms (50 feet per hose) for extensive smoke deployment. Only a second passes for the mist to fully disperse.

Theoretically, a box with arms incapacitates the target, harming only the lungs enough to mimic an allergic reaction, nothing more.

That's not how things worked out at JUNE's.

Mid-July, right on the 15th, 3:43 AM, Evalena Butts (39) and Trevor Morgan (21) break into JUNE's with steel bats, two handguns, back bags, and an empty 2021 Stella Loader. A couple in ski masks, Butts and Morgan grab the expensive goods. Reinforced coils, magnetic tractor parts, anti-demonic collars, and, oddly, unmarked capes from gifted heroes*.

Shattered glass across the main floor and the shop's alarm ringing, Morgan scouts the front-end goods. He unzips his bag and begins to fill the sucker up. The bag is relatively huge, yet [REDACTED] refused to comment on its clothing products being used for criminal activity.

Meanwhile, Butts attends the safe, located close to the Bog Fog's shadow sitting above Jim's second register. Lurking next to a twin-modem, the machine deploys smoke like a pipe bursting from a crack.

"What the?" Butts mutters, looking up to find the source of the mist. The parking lot light only shines what it can into JUNE's; the shop keeps two night lights to support the exits, yet they don't help the criminals in action.

Morgan drops a pair of spiked wheels and runs to the back, where Butts is now lost in a cloud of smoke. "Babe! Babe!" Morgan shouts, running into the fog.

The smoke's power intensifies, however. Surveillance footage shows the fog encapsulating the shop, puffing up a hotbox-like scenario. Though blocked, the cameras come with thermal readings.

Butts waves her hands around when hearing Morgan's voice. He rushes in, only to trip over one of the noodles and crash-land onto a bundle of screws. Multiple screws pierce Morgan's right shoulder, temple, and face, with one forced into his right eye. He screams in agony.

"What's going on?! Are you hurt?!" Butts yells into the fog, an overpowering chokehold of gray dust. "Wher- ugh, rrrra, rrrra-"

Rough coughs come from Butts. The cameras pick up traces of smoke clouds accumulating in the space. Morgan's body stiffens and twitches before regaining minimal strength.

At this rate, JUNE's security alarm has been going off for a couple of minutes now, administering a screeching rip through the air. The camera volume control tips its scale, receiving only a distorted ring like a blown-out speaker.

Butts exclaims, yet her dialogue remains inaudible. She's waving one arm around for guidance, with her other hand shielding an ear from the noise. Her head presses against her shoulder to cover the other ear. "Hhhhuuu-" Butts strains, though the remainder of her voice becomes lost.

Morgan recovers from his fall, though his body carries little stamina. No audio is heard from him as he visibly extends his left arm for Butts. However, thermal readings pick up blood from Morgan's mouth and right eye.

It's here when curious denizens of Mistrop storm the front of JUNE's. Some leave their cars running, phones in hand, ready to record. While most shared footage only shows the shop's front blanketed with smoke, two angles captured Morgan's movements.

The first clip displays an aching Morgan with blood appearing on his torso and face. An artery nicked from his neck, cascading a different, darker color on his clothing. Additional blood drops from his mouth, followed by a rough coughing movement. His shadow hunches over, thus depending on the store's counter for support.

The second angle instills a close-up of Morgan, brightly shot from an extremely curious end from the outside. Morgan's eyes grow red; his mouth begins to froth; cheeks pasted purple; choking is heard throughout.

JUNE's thermal readings show Morgan's body collapsing into the counter, breaking the protective glass with his forearm. A broken, blood-curdling scream lingers, which many cameras pick up from outside the shop.

"It sounded like it was from a bad horror movie, like the ones you see some real snuffy stuff, man!" - @bringbackbadtv.tv via Bicker

"My baby would scream like that in the middle of the night, in her crib and all. Just a little one, just, y'know, not developed enough. Not enough to be screaming some kind of Latin [expletive] to her mother and me." - @ porterhollywood2000 via Bicker

Mistrop police cars arrive 5 minutes and 38 seconds after the Bog Fog trigger. An MBC van appeared moments before, only to be placed behind the impromptu crime scene line. MBC's Aaron Shuster and a cameraman began reporting.

"It's just another stream of muck spewing from the city tonight, everyone. My camera guy and I are standing in front of Jim's New and Used Essentials near the industrial district, or JUNE's for short, according to some of the locals here, which my guess is custo- I mean, which might be customers, sorry about that. It's being reported that two masked individuals broke into the parts store, with at lea-"

A painful moan comes from the shop as Shuster talks to the people of Mistrop, stopping the reporter in his delivery.

Inside the shop, Butts finds Morgan. Outside folks couldn't hear it at the time, but Butts pleaded for Morgan's attention, according to the official police report.

In the end, an ambulance pulls the couple away from the crime scene. Butts is slowly moving her eyes; Morgan is dead.

Autopsy findings conclude blood flooded Morgan's lungs after becoming forcibly exposed to the Bog Fog's chemicals. The coroner explained the classified reagent from CyByFly Solutions includes a unique synthetic substance rumored to be "deadlier than ammonia." Morgan's eyes popped like balloons, leaving two red puddles pooled against shredded skin walls upon initial body retrieval. One associate said they looked like soiled cauliflower. Clumps of mass dotted his chin and neck - particles from the ruptured right lung. The ammonia-like chemical, which we're dubbing "Shrinkonia," sucked Morgan's lungs completely of air, mirroring football-sized raisins. Moreover, the victim's neck is bruised from the overwhelming abuse of internal damage.

Butts, on the other hand, now lives in a Mistrop Sheltering Agency home on the city's west side, strapped to an oxygen tank. She refused to comment when we approached her to get a better understanding of her side of the story.

JUNE's Bog Fog is now an attraction for the shop's regulars. Jim intends to keep it operational until "the damn thing takes me out itself," he jokingly told me when we stopped by for an interview.

"My goods, all my commodities and such, it's all good now. I go home with a peaceful mindset and- and, gah, it's just amazing. It's exactly what this country needs, stuff like [Bog Fog]. I know my family is happy I'm sticking with it. Sucks about what happened to that feller who broke in, but," Jim puffs a cigarette, "hey, don't try me. You'll get the bull's [expletive] and [expletive] tenfold when [expletive] with me."

CyByFly Solutions plans to manufacture additional devices for distribution. While controversy surrounds the company's craftsmanship as "insane" and "unconstitutional," CyByFly Solutions doesn't view Morgan's death as a backstep.

"The machine functioned perfectly according to the documented blueprint. Mr. Morgan harmed himself while committing a crime, thus enhancing 708's capabilities. If all is considered here, we'll thank Mr. Morgan for providing improved avenues to explore in terms of our security products. Federal agencies and the Mistrop Police Department see no issue with working with more 708s to minimalize crime," an official from CyByFly shared.

As the city continues to map out new fixes for ongoing problems, we'll maintain a vantage point in the midst of all the movement. I, for one, know which avenues to not go down to. I just choose to explore them still.

Take care of yourselves out here.

- Patricia Q. Merrill, Contributor

Bicker @ pandqatvc

VOCAL CONCERNS, ISSUE 711

*Many cloaks and weather-resistant robes, though unmarked, are suspected of belonging to San Senoj and Pop Flame, two fierce fighters from Brooklyn who occasionally show up to save persons in distress. The capes come from their early crime-fighting days of the 80s and 90s, as evidenced by liquor spillage, metallic abrasion, and defacements from frenzied transmissions of electromagnetic radiation.

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Photo Credit (skull): Alessio Ferretti

ProductionCrate Smoke Effect Used in Graphic