Oh, dear. A fight. A punch has been thrown. And of course, the Fuhrer of Footlongs, the Marshall of Mayonnaise, didn’t throw it!
He would never do that. He never throws the first punch. He said so. And we know he never lies.
Apparently, calling the Walking Wiener a “cyberthug” constitutes a punch.
On Friday, punch thrown, fight started! Q.E.D.
I realize I once told the old man to get a mallet, head for the nearest beach, and pound all that sand up his ass. What I didn’t know is that he missed and filled his vagina instead.
All worked up over being referred to as what he is. Boo hoo hoo.
But he doesn’t understand what’s happening. After a settlement was reached on the 14th, WJJ Hoge did indeed ask his readers, a loyal bunch if nothing else,
I recommend that Bill Schmalfeldt be given the opportunity to make the changes in his Internet presence that he described to me. He will probably be more successful in doing so if folks don’t joggle his elbow. Each person is free to speak, largely limited by their conscience and a few rules, but it may be best to give him some space for a few days to see how he does.
My feeling was very much the same. Up to a point. As a sign of good faith, I changed my Twitter avatar and stopped posting here. A show of good faith is one thing. But I am not a fool. I know the brand of monster we’re dealing with.
I was ready and willing to leave him alone. In fact, I did.
And then this happened:
“…or he can sell his blog.”
That quote was his next tweet, and it didn’t include my handle. He’s taken his account private again. A great way to promote his book, yeah?
Did he think I wasn’t paying attention? “Trust…but verify.”
I’m always watching. But, in good faith, in the interest of “not jostling his elbow,” I stayed my hand. I kept my peace.
On Wednesday. In good faith, I remained quiet. “Nary a peep from the boy,” said the Mooky button pusher. “Looks as though Krendler has gone private at least on Twitter,” said the silver-haired cartoon button pusher.
Yes. For four months now, dim cartoon girl.
Speaking of focus, Wednesday comes before Friday, right?
Ok. Just checking.
See, on Wednesday, TWO DAYS BEFORE he was called a “cyberthug,” the cyberthug was letting his followers know that he was creating a new Ktrl-C/Ktrl-V masterpiece featuring yours truly.
Who gives a bright blue fuck what he’s going to do? Nobody’s going to read his lies but him. If it salves his microscopic black heart to fabulize his pathetic existence for an audience of zero, who am I to stop him from doing so?
A “true” (read “bullshit”) story featuring a fictional kharacter kalled Krendler kompletely kicking his keister over a kopyright kase?
I am a character. As I said before, HE DOES NOT KNOW WHO I AM.
Oh, but he desperately wanted to, didn’t he? Oh yes, he did:
This is something, you understand, that was sufficiently on his mind to send to me, where it remains in Moderation Purgatory (still got an outstanding question waiting for an answer), on INDEPENDENCE DAY.
But now, see, he just wants to tell the tale. He just wants the truth (read “bullshit”) out there. He no longer cares who I am!
Or am I?
Because this fight, which started Friday, was prefaced on Wednesday by this comment, which also sits in my moderation queue:
Does that sound like a CHALLENGE?
I thought IT WAS OVER!! I thought WE SHOOK HANDS AND WALKED AWAY!!
And thank God for that. Because
So, howzat for a gut punch, you – what’s that phrase you like so much? Oh yes – you cum gargling fuckwit?
Do you understand now, you lonely, twisted old control freak? This is what it means to have friends. You attack one, you attack us all. The enemies you have made (a/k/a the answer to the outstanding question) are EVERYWHERE. When you say “mind your own business & go back to your knitting,” we respond with hearty laugh and an even more hearty “Fuck you.”
And we always will. So get comfortable. And enjoy your websites. I do.
UPDATE – He has spoken. From the greasy, verminous, cockroach-infested garbage bins deep in the fetid, stinking bowels of cyberspace (conveniently located in a trailer park in Elkridge, MD), he left a couple small piles in Moderation Purgatory. Neither is an answer to the outstanding question, and thus both are as irrelevant and as unworthy of publication as the rest of his simian keyboard-smashings.