Now He Really Knows He Was Right About Me


(All pictures and other material, altered or otherwise, used under Fair Use Terms of US Copyright Law, which is really just another way for me to say The Law Means What I Say It Means, And It Says I Have Carte Blanche To Steal Anything I Want, Nanner Nanner Boo Boo, So There, And The Horse You Rode In On.)

I just found out yesterday that my new bestest friend – not to be confused with my excellent friend, convicted bomber, forger, perjurer and drug dealer, who has not served his full sentence and walks free every day at risk of being returned to federal prison if he violates parole Bert Timbaland

(oh, and did I mention he is the only suspect in the murder of Augustina Encoders, the grandmother of his at-the-time waaaaay underage girlfriend, whom the sick bastard had been taking on vacations without chaperones? Did I mention that? Well, I should probably keep that to myself, what with me and Bert being such excellent palsy-walsies and all that) – Marshall Mellow of 1416 Wellesbury Lane, Huntsville AL, 35807, phone number 256-555-2455, Social Security Number 422-51-2890, clean criminal record except for 2 speeding tickets, 10 unpaid parking tickets and an expunged juvenile vandalism arrest, FICO score of 700, owed $1600 on his Harley, carried a $1.7 million life insurance policy and a $128K mortgage note on his lovely home, a picture of which I would post, so someone who felt like visiting a newly widowed single mom and offering some “special attention” might be able to recognize the right studio downtown where she doesn’t actually live – died on July 18. Dreadful news, unless you have a thing for hot, young, mourning widows. But don’t do that. I would never suggest anything so vile and crass. It’s way too soon. Please, at least wait until there’s grass on the grave, huh? Show some respect.

Marsh (he let me call him Marsh, just like that racist, alcoholic hack wannabe journalist R. Stacy McCain insists I call him “Stace”) spent the last month and a half of his life blogging the truth about how evil I am. And motorcycles, and theater, and hidden places in Alabama, but really, who cares about any of that shit? Everyone knows it’s AAAAALLLLL ABOUT ME! ME!! MEEE!!!! His blog didn’t get any attention (from me, and it’s all about me) until he started writing about ME and how evil and stupid I am on May 28. In fact, he really didn’t start writing about me until after he found that fucking Thinking Man’s Zombie blog written by that fucking weasel Paul Krendler whose parody I stole and put in a book. You see, Marshall thought he knew more about US Copyright Law and Fair Use than I do, and NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY, knows more about copyright law and unfair use than me. Not even some Presidential appointed, Senate approved icky girl Federal Judge!

Because – HOGE!

But as soon as the Lickspittle Minions© got wind of yet another blogger who had seen through my steady stream of lies and other horse shit, and proved himself smarter than me, he was welcomed into the Hogewash! fold like a conquering hero. I have to make up commenters at my blog. Even Harridan O’FakeChik won’t comment on my blogs.

What Marshall did was what any decent journalist would do. He asked me questions. Sure they were obnoxious. How can you call yourself a journalist is you don’t hound your subject with obnoxious questions like, “What happened to your dead daughter? Did you drown her in the toilet yourself, or was it your wife? Where’s the death certificate? What about the paperwork on your underage porn models? When did you stop abusing your kids? You know I’m calling the cops on you, don’tcha, pervert? Why do you pimp out your wife, sicko bastard?”

Of course, those questions aren’t obnoxious; they’re tenacious. There’s a difference. I only ask tenacious questions. If I’m not asking, then they’re obnoxious.

They were even reasonably polite, and based in documentable history of some of my past award-winning journalistic and other online exploits. I mean, when I doxed McCain and that guy in Dallas on the same day, I got a dozen fresh jars of mayonnaise! There was no return address on it, but who cares? MAYONNAISE!!

Besides, those obnoxious questions had nothing to do with the the battles I’m fighting and the issues I’m facing.

Oh. Did I mention that it’s ALL. ABOUT. ME!!?!!ELEVENTY!???!?

At first, he seemed like a nice enough fellow. Earnestly trying to find out what black and malignant infestation makes an obviously mental deficient, unstable sociopathic narcissist like me tick. And I’m sure he was earnest and honest and nice in real life.

I wonder what that’s like? (Not really. Couldn’t care less.)

But this is cyberspace, where I can take off my mask and be the unrelenting, shit-smeared fuckstick bastard that I always am when no one is around to unplug the computer and mix a triple dose of lithium into my fro yo. Where I can say stuff like this:


And now young Marshall is gone, so tragically young, with an extra young widow, and two even younger young youngsters. And puppies! Young puppies! Barely out of the whelping box, so recently torn away from their own mother (oh, Marshall, you heartless piece of shit, how could tear those helpless young, young, YOUNG animals from the only love they’ve ever known only to abandon them to the tail-yanking, ear-pulling shenanigans of your soon to be homeless little criminal street urchins! O the cruelty!). I didn’t have the chance to make peace with him, after he reached the obvious conclusion that I am every bit the tumorous, vile, stinking, vomitous waste of human flesh that every right-thinking netizen believes I am. I’ve made peace with many make-believe Hoge readers who, once I realized I could not dox them because they don’t actually exist, have learned that I am a living, breathing human being who functions entirely on my autonomic nervous system and a deep brain stimulator that has been hijacked via Bluetooth by some teenaged creepazoid hacker living IN A VAN! DOWN BY!! THE RIVER!!!

It breaks my heart that Marshall spent the last month and a half of his life inserting myself (…add your own joke here, I can’t choose from so many…-PK) into issues that did not concern him. Issues like:

• what sort of professional association would a Pennsylvania dentist belong to, and how could I fuck with that?

• would a librarian be embarrassed by the fact that she finished last in a local election?

• why is some old broad in Portland sending me emails?

• that guy in Illinois I tried to get fired is wondering about jobs in Maryland? After I clean up the fear pee and creep his TL, I’m gonna get a peace order that I have no intention of pressing

• a guy with that name absolutely MUST be the same guy in the same state with a long arrest record, right?

Why would Michael want to do such stupid things?


Me? Of course, me. It’s ALL ABOUT ME!

Oh, that! Did I do those things? I’m sorry but I’m not going to participate in your stupid games so MYOFB!!! And if you don’t tell me Paul Krendler’s real name by the time I count three, I’m gonna count to FOUR!!!

Um…never mind. I recently learned about this thing called a Freudian Slip? I think I just broke my hip.

The more I pointed out to him that he’s not an award winning jomolista like me, and that he had no right to ask polite questions of me (BECAUSE IT’S ALL ABOUT ME!), the more he persisted in acting like a shitty fake internet investigative jomolista chasing a totally fake non-story down Texas way in a totally unethical and downright shitty manner that, if there were any true justice in the world, would land that shitty fake internet investigative jomolista behind bars for the rest of his sorry fucking life!

But that’s not me. I would never do ANYTHING like that.

But Marshall, poor young dead Marshall, just couldn’t let it go. He pushed me, and pushed me, and pushed me. And now he’s dead. Of a heart attack. So they say. Just by the way, did you know that drugs like cocaine and methamphetamine can cause a massive heart attack? It’s just amazing the things you can learn on the internet! Wouldn’t it be something if I knew someone who could get their hands on such illegal substances? Someone who’d been convicted of dealing drugs? Boy, it’s a good thing I don’t know anybody like that.

To give you
an idea of what we’re dealing with here, a couple months after conservative new media firebrand Andrew Breitbart died in 2012, some fucking shitbrained, pus-oozing, lunatic, festering-chancre-on-the-hemorrhoidal-asshole-of-Liberal-Assholedom hatemonger called “The Liberal Grouch” started a parody website called “Big Damnation” to mock Andrew and torture his fans. The same guy even had a Twitter account, @DeadAndrew, to go with it. That this would come to mind upon hearing about the death of someone tells more about ME that person who isn’t me (EVEN THOUGH IT’S ALL ABOUT ME!!!) than anything I could ever say.

But this is what Twitter and blogs have created. I hate people I’ve never even met. I can try an entire federal case and declare myself victoriously victorious without even knowing what FACTS may be presented! I Hate for the Sake of Hating. And, because Hate Is All I Have Left.m It’s the sort of thing that people who should know better engage in. Thank goodness I’m not intelligent enough to know better; what a perfect excuse for being the pluperfect leaking sphincter that I am. Not like Hoge and Aaron Walker. They both have treated me like a human being. I’ve had pleasant conversations with both of them. They seem decent enough. Yet the next day, there I am, back online, ridiculing Aaron’s “mail order bride,” making up transsexual masturbation fantasies about Hoge’s son, or painting his wife as an alcoholic. And for what? To build readership?

I have no readership! I have to comment with sockpuppets, for crissakes! Nobody comments at my blog-of-the-week because everyone knows I’ll dox anyone who doesn’t praise me to the skies. Everybody disagrees with me, but everyone knows that IT’S ALL ABOUT ME!!! so everyone knows that everyone who disagrees with me must be wrong so everybody must be doxed, and if I could exercise just a tiny amount of…what’s it called again? Self-control, then I would not feel so all alone, EVERYBODY MUST GET STONED!

Where was I?

Ask my wife what 764 radio stations, 86 defunct blogs and 10,648 abandoned Twitter accounts will mean to her when I’m dead. Ask my kids if their father’s me-me-me-against-the-world pissing contest with an army of people he’s never met, knows nothing about, wouldn’t know if they somehow managed to endure the stench and squeeeeeeze into an elevator with him and his rolly chair and hope he doesn’t fall on top of them…ask them if they think his last years of blogging futility are something they will look back on with pride.

Then look at the posts I’ve managed not to delete out of shame and cowardice. OR JUST COUNT ALL THE LINKS TO ALL THE POSTS I HAVE WRITTEN WHICH NO LONGER EXIST. Read the hundreds, maybe thousands of screencapped Tweets that I’ve deleted or hidden.


I’m an award-winning jomolista of three decades vintage! You’d think I would be proud of what I write, proud enough to leave it up for posterity to judge my legacy.

But no. I am a coward, with no spine to stand behind what I write.

My sins, and they are both LEGION and EPIC, were committed in the pursuit of personal and political vendettas. The CARDINAL sin of the jomolista is lack of objectivity. And I am guilty.


But that is absolutely irrelevant. I have given up the practice of journalism, because I could never get it right in the first place. The fact that I hate all of you does nothing to tear down the illusion that I have ever accomplished anything in my life except drive two ex-wives into the arms of other men. That takes some effort.

Look at what I’m writing now. Is this the sort of legacy I should leave?

Why am I asking you? I hate you.

I admit that I am not proud of every word I’ve written (especially that word “hubris,” you’d think there would be at least one synonym for that), but I’ve gotten pretty good at memory-holing the worst of it before anyone screencapped it (ohpleaseohpleaseohplease let it be true!), so on the surface it certainly appears to the uninterested observer that I’ve done far more good in my time on the planet than I’ve done evil. (though I may be borrowing against EDN* time in that calculation) but I can say – knowing my own heart and mind – that I have never done evil –


– without fully rationalizing away the fact it was evil. I will admit that I have done things that turned out in a way that hurt people, but hurt was never my intent (merely a glorious, bordering on orgasmic, sweaty-palmed unintended consequence).

Can you say that?

As a matter of fact, I can. Because all I have is fun! – PK

My conscience is clean, even if my drawers are not. And I look forward to winning this case which I have tried and won 562,854 times in my head without knowing what evidence or argument that HOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!!!!!!! will bring to bear and blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda, IT’S ALL ABOUT ME ME ME!!!!!!!!! And fuck you. And fuck Hoge. And fuck Mellow, too.

Still, I ache for the Mellow family. (Nah, I don’t – fuck ’em. And their little dogs, too!) I know the sting of unexpected loss, of when my irresponsible, careless, selfish twin brother and wrestling partner shuffled off this mortal coil in 2004. I only mention it BECAUSE IT’S ALWAYS, ONLY ALL ABOUT ME AND DON’T YOU FUCKING FORGET IT. EVER.

Marshall had a lot of questions that he wanted answers to. He didn’t want them bad enough to call in a spousal abuse report, or to suggest that I might be mentally unstable, or to threaten to have my kids taken away (I would have done all those things, but that’s what separates the truly ethical journalist from grimy sewer-dwelling turds like me). Plus, I already knew that everything he knew was already in the public record, so all he was trying to do was “Mike Wallace” me and get me to confess to stuff that’s already been proven true. What’s in it for me (it’s all about me)? I chose not to play along, which of course only made me look guilty. But I am guilty, so who gives a fuck?

I wager, if there’s such a thing as Heaven, that Marsh Mellow now has all the answers he sought, and he knows he will never see me again except from inside the pearly gates, whilst I suffer across the infinite chasm with great wailing and gnashing of teeth, shackled between the Bobber and Fatty Arbuckle for all eternity. With only one kind of deodorant, that smells like Bigs and rancid mayonnaise.


Author: Paul Krendler

The Thinking Man's Zombie

45 thoughts on “Now He Really Knows He Was Right About Me”

    1. If you really feel the need to see the source material, smear your whole body with disinfectant, get dressed up in surgical scrubs and mask, a HAZMAT suit, hip waders and whatever other protective gear you can think of, and head over here:

      But please, take my advice: DON'T.

      1. Here is a link to the wayback machine copy:

  1. You really want his wife and kids to read this? Was it worth any pain to them - BILL is going to be handled and it isn't going to be pretty

    1. I think what EPWJ is suggesting is possibly changing to a pseudonym for MM.

      I'd add to make sure the record is clear: LG didn't win but she didn't finish last, though that was the craven liar and affront to humanity, Bill Schmalfeldt's repeated claim.

      Finally - WOW! Amazing, even epic - maybe surpassing your usual genius, PK! Laughed out loud repeatedly. Very, very well done!

      1. I agree, you should definitely use a pseudonym, after all, those of us who have been watching this train wreck know exactly who you mean, but others who have just happen to stumble in may not realize this is a satirical parody of some thing else...

        you may also want to make the note that none of that "info" is real or accurate, otherwise those who like to put other people's info out there may think you are doing the same thing (we all know you wouldn't but then we aren't idiotic imbeciles like the type who dox ppl in the first place)..

  2. Bravo, Bravo, (imagine a huge crowd at an opera house giving a standing ovation here) absolutely freaking brilliant. If Shaky "dick dents" Shakester had an 1/8 of your writing ability, maybe he wouldn't be such an absolute waste of flesh, and could afford that life long dream of owning a double wide (just imagine, double the space). Unfortunately Dick Dents doesn't, so he's a waste of flesh, living a wasted life, in a single wide in Elkridge. Hey Shaky, try and look on the bright side, sweet sweet death can't be to far away, right buddy? Just another reminder that Bill sucks at life.

    1. Typical. Wanting to insert himself into every little thing. SMDH

      1. William is attempting a wholly transparent and infinitely dumb exercise in blackmail. I suppose he thinks that Paul will take this down, and then he can claim victory.

        Since Captain Cuckold publicly threatened to both dox and prosecute Michael, I would assume that he gave Mrs. Malone a healthy forewarning. And that would make any conversation Schmalfeldt had with her - particularly in the midst of a feldtdown - a joy to listen to.

        "Listen, you don't know me, but I'm some creepy oddity on the Internet that your late husband had a Nazi-like hate for, so I think we have equal reason to grieve, don't you?

        Anyhoo, a man your husband never met, but was friendly with, is releasing all of Michael's most personal information, even though there's no logical way that he'd have it in the first place.

        Back to me. I know the father of your children is gone, and all, but people call me Inspector Jiggles on the Internet, which is forever! Which do you think is worse?

        You think the profanely premature passing of your husband is worse? HOGEIST! I knew you were a HOGEIST, too! I may have to have your children taken away and rapists sent to your home, and it's All. Your. Fault."

        That would be fun. And likely result in a restraining order in a third state for William. Like baseball cards, Schmalfeldt needs the complete series!

    2. Dear, God. I hope not.

      To even consider doing such a thing is beyond evil, and sociopathic to its very core.

      Good grief. If the Deranged Cyberstalker and Adjudicated Harasser Bill Schmalfeldt possesses even a smidgen of empathy and compassion for ANYone, he will leave that poor widow and her grief-stricken, young children alone!

      I am truly concerned Michael's loved ones are going to find themselves on the receiving end of BS's abusive and relentless harassment. Just thinking out loud here... but, I wonder if it may be a good idea for Mr. Krendler or Mr. Hoge to gently reach out to Mrs. Malone, and kindly prepare her for the possibility of becoming yet another harassment victim of the Deranged Cyberstalker and Adjudicated Harasser Bill Schmalfeldt. I so hate to think of her being blindsided by that creepy freak. My heart is breaking over here at the mere thought.

      God help her.

      1. I agree that might be necessary. I don't LIKE it, but it probably should happen.

        And if William does go there, a dark and furious anger should rain down upon him, the likes of which is beyond his imagining. If he doesn't like two blogs about him, maybe fifty or sixty would be more to his liking.

      2. As I wrote above, I believe she has already been warned by someone she trusts much more than any stranger on the internet, no matter how well meaning.

        However, I don't see anything wrong with anyone who was/is a friend offering their sincere condolences at his blog. Some were closer with him than others, of course, and more likely to have been mentioned to her by her late husband.

  3. Gosh I almost thought he was actually writing it lolz. What a sick twisted fuck he is. I clicked off about halfway thru his screed because it became all about him him him him him him and I only have so much tolerance for epic narcissism.

  4. Oh, poor, narcissistic, simpleton William actually believes that he’s important enough to be hated by anyone.

    Does anyone hate the bug that they find in their kitchen? Of course not. Rational adults – which necessarily precludes William – simply crush it under their heel and go about their day without a second thought. Schmalfeldt is simply a considerably larger, two-legged version of the vermin that is routinely squashed without thought or consequence.

    If William Matthew Schmalfeldt is notable in any way at all, it is his penchant for, and deep love of, his own personal humiliation. A twisted pervert of the most public kind, William advertises the fact that he’s tasted the salty remnants of innumerable other men when he’s kissed not only his first wife, but his second, as well. In a wildly misguided quest for sympathy, he’s broadcast his own impotence, instead of leaving himself even a smidgen of dignity.

    Perhaps this is why he spends so much time browsing and collecting gay pornography. It could very well be that anonymous cock is the only thing left that won’t betray him. It comforts him in a way. And you get used to the taste, after a time.

    Our friend, the Great and Glorious Oliver Wendell Jones, offers his strange and incredibly misinformed legal prophecies, regardless of the fact that he has yet to be right, or without them exploding in his fucking face. Instead of learning that he might not have a talent for it, he perseveres, secure in the knowledge that he just has to be right at some point!

    Even his “friends” – and a more hideous collection of human oddities you’re unlikely to find outside of a sideshow, or perhaps the Nuremberg trials – laugh at him with some regularity. In fact, the only discernible service Schmalfeldt has provided anyone is giving Brett Kimberlin someone to feel morally superior to. If nothing else, there’s always that.

    However strong William’s senses of self-regard and entitlement are, if repeated humiliation is the only attention the world will give him, he’ll gladly take it. There’s no other logical reason that he’d shit in his own nest and roll around in his own filth so often, if not for our merriment. The only reason respectable society pays him any heed at all is that we’re mesmerized by the sight of human blood mixing with gasoline.

    He’s not even the moral monster that he’d like us to believe that he is. That’s Kimberlin. William’s only function is to enable and celebrate Brett’s perversity until he’s given the recognition he thinks is his due. Perhaps when Bill is finally dead and tossed in a dumpster, Brett will come over, break out a stepladder, and kiss Gail on the forehead.

    Is that worthy of hatred? No. No it is not. At the end of the day, Bill Schmalfeldt is bug – a bug that will soon be crushed without a second thought. And the rest of us will go about our day. If we think anything at all in the aftermath, I imagine it would be, “Aren’t those fucking people supposed to be jolly?”

    1. This! ^^^ Thank you, Neal N. Bob, for expressing those facts in your own inimitable way.

      Documented liar, craven coward, baby-doxer, adjudicated harasser, recipient of peace/restraining orders from multiple states (maybe attempting to add another as he's threatening to harass/terrify a very recently bereaved widow* and/or her children), affront to all humanity Bill Schmalfeldt doesn't just gladly accept humiliation as the only attention possible for one so vile, he blatantly demands it. His desperation would be pathetic if Bill Schmalfeldt wasn't so repulsive and so responsible for his own alienation, even from his own children.

      We. Are. All. He. Has.

      Without attention from us, he is all alone with himself. That would horrify anyone.

      So, he dances. And dances. And dances. To whatever tune is played by those he claims to hate.

      *Cos you know, once he calls her, she'll take his word over her late husband's, of course. There is no doubt in my mind that weeks ago her husband gave her explicit instructions on what to do if/when contacted by the repugnant Bill Schmalfeldt. I'm sure we all recall how upset her husband was over the admittedly dementia-addled, despicable, doxer, Bill Schmalfeldt going through his facebook page.

      1. Thank you for that reminder, Jane. Thank you so much.

        I had forgotten about the Deranged Cyberstalker and Adjudicated Harasser Bill Schmalfeldt stalking Michael's Facebook page, and making Michael feel horribly uncomfortable and uneasy at the time. Surely Michael discussed the Blob, and the Blob's maniacal penchant for harassment, with his wife.

        Here's to hoping and praying that if that freak actually does contact Michael's widow, she will immediately place a call to law enforcement, and, as well, touch base with Michael's numerous law enforcement buddies and fellow bikers.

        Bill Schmalfeldt is an evil, evil creature to even consider doing such a thing. The Deranged Cyberstalker and Adjudicated Harasser Bill Schmalfeldt, and his sociopathic assaults on good and decent people, needs to be stopped.

  5. Thanks for the props Jefe.

    At some point soon Marshall will probably have a chat with a certain Mom and you can just imagine the scene right out of a thousand reruns of the old trope:"That boy never was quite right".

  6. Oh MY FUCKING GOD, that guy is one stupid bastard. What a poor dumb cocksucker is Schmalfeldt.

    Again, Bill (I know you're watching), you have been made a fool of.

    You are always a fool. Always THE FOOL.

    No wonder your family is in hiding, faking death.

  7. You know, I'd wager that the Michael J. Fox Parkisons Foundation would be concerned about William associating his name with theirs. Just a thought.

  8. Neal N. Bob wrote: "And if William does go there, a dark and furious anger should rain down upon him, the likes of which is beyond his imagining. If he doesn’t like two blogs about him, maybe fifty or sixty would be more to his liking."


    More notoriety than the Blob could ever imagine existing.

    I, for one, would be more than happy to try my hand at blogging should the Deranged Cyberstalker and Adjudicated Harasser Bill Schmalfeldt step over that particular line.

    I am far from humored at merely the thought/possibility of the Blob doing such a thing. I will most assuredly determine I have sat on the sidelines and watched his sociopathic antics for far too long should I be informed that freak has contacted Michael's widow.

      1. Yes. I, too, would be interested in seeing screencaps. Anyone?

        And, if the Deranged Cyberstalker and Adjudicated Harasser Bill Schmalfeldt has even one, functioning brain cell left in that fat, disgusting head of his... he'll reevaluate his intentions.

        Decent folk don't much care for, and most likely will NOT idly stand by and simply watch -- a sociopathic freak act on a sick desire to harass a grieving widow.

        1. Just remember that sage advice - gee, I WISH I could recall where I read it - tire irons are quite handy and much less likely to break than your average baseball bat.

          Plus, they'll sink right to the bottom of whatever body of water happens to be close by.

  9. If it comes to my attention that William has even made a serious attempt at contacting the family, I'll be set up to go within 48 hours with independent accounts to receive every screencap, document or article that William has ever put out there.

    My understanding is that American divorce records are public domain, correct? Those might come in handy as well. In the very unlikely event that he finds out who I am, William will quickly come to understand that he's too lazy, stupid and poor to do very much about it.

    As a matter of good faith, I set it up so that John, Paul and, sadly, Micheal, could find out who I was in about 35 seconds, if they so chose. That won't be true if I decide to strike out on my own. And a subpoena from William's imaginary girlfriend, Judge Hollander (who Schmalfeldt, in a work of stunning genius, has created a tag for on his blog of the week) will be meaningless.

    My friends, what you've seen here is my off-the-cuff writing. Heretofore, I've lacked what some call "FOCUS!"

    Would you like my FOCUS, William? I have the time, energy, and endless wells of contempt necessary to make your life a true and profound misery. Stacy McCain has written one 5,000 word article about you. I used to write things that long every day. I've built large audiences before, and I'll do it again.

    I'll make you famous.

    Want to be famous, William? Go there. Do that. I'm faster, smarter and infinitely meaner than you are. And I haven't torn into a bully in a good long time. I miss it more than a little bit. Within a week, you'll see Paul's blog and Hogewash as Christmas cards.

    Roll that cripple cart over the corpse of a man I admired in an effort to bother his family and you'll pounded from so many different directions for so long that you won't dream of showing your face in public again. And every single word that I write will be fully supported by things that you've put out there, or people that you've been intimately involved with.

    Give me a reason to FOCUS, William.

    1. Someone was kind enough to toast me with this on Hogewash the other day.
      I think it's an appropriate laud to NNB's comment here.

    2. And, you, good sir, would have any of my assistance (if needed), and 100% of my undying support.

      FOCUS will swiftly become the order of the day, if the Deranged Cyberstalker and Adjudicated Harasser Bill Schmalfeldt -- WHINER of any-and-all things related to HIS family -- opts to bring yet another innocent family into his sick and diabolical world.

      I'd wager contacting a woman who has very recently been widowed -- with two, young, grief-stricken children -- will be crossing a line the Blob will quickly and most certainly regret crossing.

      1. Oh, he most decidedly will. If it's the very last thing I do in this world, I will make William Matthew Schmalfeldt regret crossing that line, should he choose to do so. As soon as widows and young children are on the board, nothing should be sacred.

        I was deeply hurt and profoundly saddened by MM's passing. Anyone that read Running Wolf knew that he went out of his way to be fair to the point that even some at Hogewash questioned his motives. I sensed that hurt him, but he never stopped being fair. He was the very last of us that should have gone.

        That a maggot like William dare display the fucking cheek to try to put his own trespasses on the deceased, less than three hours after he found out about his passing was nothing short of an outrage.

        Running Wolf sought to be a peacemaker, and I very much hope that he is forever blessed for that. If William doesn't stand in place, we should have nothing at all to do with peacemaking.

        If he goes further, to invade the privacy of a grieving widow and, God forbid, her children, with this nonsense, ALL of us should take that as nothing less than a declaration of total war.If and when that happens, fairness be damned! Be accurate, yes. Stay within the bounds of the law, most certainly. But be ruthless! Make it known to any that would follow in his squalid footsteps that a mighty price will be paid for doing so.

        Because I think that MM would do the same for us.

      2. I have already been posting screenshots of Seaman Slurper's greatest hits all around the interwebz. I have added all of the MM comments and they have quickly become a big, big hit. Crowd pleasers, are the sordid ramblings of the cuckolded cocksucker of Elkridge.

  10. And maybe, just for giggles and my highly developed sense of irony, I'll sell the exclusive, worldwide copyright to whatever I set up to Paul. I think one U.S dollar would be fair.

    If'n I'm right about what's coming, it might come in handy.

  11. Y'all are amazing, true, and you make me proud just to be cyber-seen with you. 😀

  12. Paul, thank you very much for the time consuming edit. Much appreciated. And I think you picked a very appropriate moniker in Marshall Mellow. 😀

    MM was indeed an incredibly mellow guy, from what I read from him. He seemed very happy, content, and at peace with himself, and his life. No doubt he also had a very soft side which he displayed frequently.

    Excellent choice. Again, thank you. 🙂

    1. 'Twas nothing. Sadly for the Single-Wide Satan, no important information (such as each COMPLETE BULLSHIT item of the so-called "dox" that he and all his brain-dead pals bought hook, line and sinker) was changed.

      Poor little monkey did a fine dance today though, huh?

      1. You do have a knack for calling a tune... hahaha Well done on so many levels. 😀


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