When I say that I hate my mother, it's a gross understatement. And that which blind imbeciles can never get to realise is how justified the hatred is. Now, the evil witch - all the way from the United States of America where she claims she resides in - would that more runs believe I'm breaking down, and that I should be once again incarcerated in a psychiatric ward. Even as she has been doing for almost twenty-five years of my life, as of today. I have in the past lost three flash drives - literally speaking - when this cruel and evil woman had me kidnapped from my rented apartment at Iwo Road in Ibadan by that murderous psychiatrist, Professor Victor Lasebikan. All the property that I had in the apartment was then left at the mercy of a door that was left wide open by Lasebikan's goons - after they had broken into the apartment, after I refused to open the door for them; and after they had had me carted off to their murderous hospital, upon the injection of a sedative. I had my dearly beloved cat, Testimony, starved to death by this desperately cruel and evil woman - that, whilst she had me locked up in a psychiatric ward for over three months, refused to release Testimony from the room of mine in my father's house where he also was on his own part locked up, refused to feed him also; until the poor cat died of starvation as a consequence of having absolutely no one to care for him. And these are just a couple of the reasons behind my hatred of this viciously vile woman that the world has me know as my mother. The theft of all the contents of seven flash drives (seven flash drives that are not of the three flash drives referred to above, that were literally speaking plundered of me) and of my laptop - repeatedly, by all manner of the scavengers that she kept on allowing to enter my house in Akure - until my laptop became so damaged that it functions today only when it is plugged in to a socket, is just another of the reasons. The plunder (of which she has often boasted of being behind) that had me unable to actualise my membership of the Rosicrucian Order, is even yet another. And now, all those that frequent Alagbaka Extension (Phase Two) in Akure, be they residents or what-not, are opening their filthy mouths to talk of bundling me off to be incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital. All of them led by this disgustingly filthy and evil woman that's known by the world as Folashade Modupe Sanda nee Bammeke. Ever bent on making sure that all the labours of my life turn out to be fruitless, she keeps me under such stern monitoring that I wouldn't even have applied for a job - or to a school - I would have only intentions of applying, and she or her cronies or both would instantly have shown up either at the school or at the organisation I'm applying to, to speak against all that would have it accept me. And she has not finished destroying my life, as far as she's concerned. That she's the one that has been afflicting me in Akure to the extent where those she uses to do the afflicting believe now that they have enough justification with which to accuse me of being a nut-case, is that which she will not say. That the evil rabble she sends to carry out this affliction carry out her bidding so openly, the entirety of Akure - most especially those of them that frequent the area of Alagbaka, most especially those of them that frequent the area of the damned and accursed Alagbaka Extension (Phase Two) where I live - can testify, if they would, of how all manner of evil rabble (from primary school children to garage touts) join in the jeering and the insults with which they brag during all the hours I spend awake of how they have once again raped or robbed or damaged or in some other way afflicted. At the top of their voices. To the entire neighbourhood of Alagbaka Extension (Phase Two) that I call damned and accursed because they would now on their own part - and also at the top of their voices - join in the jeering and the insults and the abuse with which they on their own part prove they also are a part of the raping and the robbing and the destruction. And now the evil sorceress that is known as Folashade Modupe Sanda nee Bammeke (after having seen that I have made it most evident that I hate this evil rabble that she uses, even as I have stated above, to afflict me - and that are such demented imbeciles that they believe I and they will still one day be one, despite all the obvious transparency with which they make it most evident that they it is that afflict me) this vile sorceress is said now to have made the decision to once again have me bundled off to be incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital. Even as she has been doing for almost twenty-five years of my life. One of the objectives of this decision of hers (which her serpentine cunning will never admit to, of course; and which naive dormies like unto psychiatrists can never decipher) is that she would she thwart and subvert all my efforts towards leaving the Fraudurian nation of Nimrod that you know of as Nigeria. All my applications and would-be applications to schools in countries that do not believe in the evil Frauduria revels in, now have to be made to be in vain; for the afflictions with which this woman and her cronies seek to in all its entirety destroy my life has to be inflicted throughout my life to be made feasible. All the applications I have made or intend to make, to all manner of jobs (even of international status) also have to be rendered futile. Even as futility of all that I have ever done in life is the objective of this demented rabble that keep on thronging after me, as they fanatically strive to wipe out all the blood of mine shed all over the world wide web - as they frenetically work to destroy all the works of mine scattered all over the internet that testify to my having been any other thing in life but a nut-case. And the extent to which they work hard to destroy my legacy is such that - even as they have for decades been doing in Ibadan - this demented evil that works hand-in-hand with my equally demented mother not only has turned all that is my possession into public property (such that all manner of insane imbeciles, be they strangers or what-not, can enter my rooms - be it in Akure or in Ibadan - to ogle and to go through every inch of my property, even when they're gracious enough not to plunder of it) but now also carries all my written works - most especially those that I have closeted in the supposed safety of my room, in my father's house in Ibadan - from house to house in accursed Ibadan; and from town to town, most especially all the way from Ibadan to Akure: that each and absolutely all in Yorubaland, most especially those that are my enemies, may have the opportunity to go through words of mine that unveil my innermost nudity - memoirs, diaries, and more: with which I have for decades not only sought to put on record the afflictions I have suffered in the hands of the tribe of Yorubaland in particular, in the hands of the nation of Nigeria in general; but with which I have sought to document also my decades-long walk with The LORD, with GOD, with my Creator. But I will keep on thanking my Creator. And I will keep on praising The LORD. That He keeps on answering my cries unto Him to the extent where this evil rabble - led, of course, by my deliriously insane mother - has lost the war they wage upon me so obviously that it now even is my very own prayers that the demented rabble would it begin to recite, in its bid to destroy my life. It is my very own prayers, it is the very words with which I cry out unto my Creator - unto The LORD - that the empty-headed buffoons want to start using to wage war upon me! I Laugh in Disdain! Even Goliath and his Philistines would have thought it stupid to believe reciting the Psalms of David would bring them victory over Israel. However, this brain-dead rabble that throng after my equally brain-dead mother are eternal imbeciles. And therefore, my hatred of the woman. My hatred of Ibadanland. My hatred of Yorubaland. My hatred of Nigeria. Justified by all manner of my blood, spilt all over the web - though even yet being cleaned off by this evil rabble that is striving to not only cover up but wipe out too all records of my having ever even existed. And they have succeeded in doing this to that extent where most search engines (Google included) and most of Artificial Intelligence do not even want to know that I have ever been. "Ko gbodo," is that which they say. Ko gbodo. He must not. And they keep on wiping out all the records of sufferings that are such that, at least two have testified to their being more agonising even than the sufferings of Jesus Christ. To the extent where they would even sneak into my house, they would even sneak into my room (even during those brief moments whilst I'm taking a bath) to steal and to plunder and to destroy of my words and my writings - be they softcopy, or hardcopy. I have woken up once before to find out that one or more of this unrepentant evil had used my own handset to sneak into my Medium account whilst I slept. Those that were thereby kidnapped or murdered of the wards that are my writings as a consequence of this intrusion, I am yet to find out. I have returned to my room once before, from the bathroom - only to find out that one or more of this rabble had used my very own handset to sneak into my LinkedIn account whilst I was taking a bath. Those that were thereby kidnapped or murdered of the wards that are my writings as a consequence of this evil, I am yet to know. Ditto even for my e-mail account. I would on occasion pick up my phone, only to see that someone had been going through my e-mails in my absence. And the objective obviously is not merely to monitor but to in all its entirety destroy. All to make sure that I am such a nonentity, even the very salvation I keep on striving to work out with all due fear and trembling is nullified. But my Creator Is. And The LORD Lives. Thus, despite all their antics, I know that I shall overcome. And as for you, Folashade Sanda........ May you die, O you Folashade Sanda! May you die, O you Folashade Sanda! May you die, O you Folashade Sanda! May you die, O you Folashade Sanda! And even as thou would for me, may there be none to say he or she knew you as you die. O Masculinism, Let us worship....... The LORD our God, The LORD Is GOD. Ikoro Iyineleda BSc, PGDE, PGDFM Author Masculinism Bridegroom and Servant-Leader The Pride of Machismo Renaissance 25th of February, 2025.