Did My Wife Even HAVE Cancer? Or Is That Another Lie?
In the couple of days since WJJ HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! announced his wife’s “cancer,” the closest he’s come to saying anything about it is “I have other issues at hand,” or words to that effect.
I can’t understand why he hasn’t created a new blog like I did so he could over-share every step of her illness for his legions of Lickspittles the way I shared with my sockpuppets. And Sweet Willy Winkie in La Chupacabra, California or wherever the hell he squats himself these days.
It was this announcement by HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! Friday night that FORCED me to, perhaps stupidly, split an infinitive and choose air-quotes: “ethical responsibility (wink, nudge, what a GREAT EXCUSE, RIGHT??)” over an unjustly (stupid judge, thinks he knows the law better than me!) applied law and violate a valid and legal peace order that simply doesn’t apply to an ubermensch like me to contact him to put him in touch with Public Relations people I worked with at the National Institutes of Health who could help them work their way through the Clinical Trials maze, if that was a route they chose to take.
It sound so…reasonable…when I put it like that, doesn’t it? And by reasonable, I mean #BATSHITCRAZY. Like teh EPIC Deb Frisch. ELEVENTY.
As I type this, no charges filed against me. But it’s the weekend and Monday’s a holiday. I’m the guy who fell off an 80 story building, and as I plummet past the 30th floor someone shouts “Are you okay?”
So far, so good.
I haven’t been arrested, although I have asked Gayle to advise any police who show up for me to give us a few minutes to put the footrests on the wheelchair since it is physically impossible for me to move on my own volition when it is this cold outside. We could put the footrests on now, but I’m going to want to savor those last few moments of freedom, plus it would be the smart thing to do, and why start now?
One must wonder if HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! has tried the court commissioner and was told, “Jesus, man! The guy is subject to four similar orders in three states and STILL thought it was a good idea to contact you? Does this guy have a WORKING BRAIN?” I wonder if he contacted the police and they told him, “Look, pal, we just told him that he was an idiot for thinking we would prosecute YOU for ‘lying’ on your peace order petition. You’re damned right we’ve had enough of this walking prick. We’re going to put him behind bars and stop him from stalking anybody else ever again.”
I don’t know. Whatever. I’m a prisoner in my own body. Makes no nevermind to me.
I suppose that leaves the idiot Judge (“I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout tweetin’ no Twitters!”) Stansfield of the circuit court who took under advisement HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!’s attempt to find me in contempt for linking to his blog and having a blog widget that anyone could use to contact him, and sending him a letter through the mail that has a remarkably similar writing style to the multiple bibles’ worth of vile crap I have spewed onto the Internet in my time. I suppose that come Tuesday, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! will be back at the courthouse, waving my peace order violating email under somebody’s nose, demanding that I be severely punished for using his wife’s health problems as just another horseshit (AAAAUUGH! SOMEONE MAILED ME HORSESHIT!!! IT MADE ME CRY!!! eleventy) excuse to violate the peace order.
But does she have cancer? Or was this just another elaborate attempt to get a reaction out of me. Those always work. Because I’m going to die soon from Stage ELEVENTYFIVE Parkinson’s Disease, so why start trying to pretend I’m smart now?
Like I wrote earlier, the forged signature that looks exactly like my signature which never looks like my signature on the forged letter that sounds exactly like something I would write and not be smart enough to not mail is Strike One.
The false voice message that Mark in MD – who is a genius lawyer but for some reason won’t represent me because he only talks when I shove my hand in his sock and wiggle it – found on the dial-a-prank site is Strike Two.
The creation of a false Andrew Ballard, including setting up a LinkedIn Account for him which listed a college education at Middle Tennessee State University (in Nashville, land of the ancient HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!s) that doesn’t exist? Just to mess with my mind? That would be Strike Three.
(Wait – is it Andrew Ballard that doesn’t exist? Or Middle Tennessee State University? I suppose I could go back and proofread that sentence and figure out what I just said, but that‘s not what TRUE BLUE ETHICAL JOURNAMALISTS DO. So fuckit. Whatever.)
The appropriation of a young woman’s name, knowing that I would wonder what her story is, that I would be unable to avoid the overwhelming urges I have for all such young women (to DOX her, you stink-eyed shitburger!), that I would, like I do with everyone who expresses a negative thought about me, look her up online and find all manner of filth written about her, knowing that I would stupidly use that information, because I’m stupid? Strike Four.
I fucked up, I fouled up, I got fooled, and I faceplanted. In other words, I can not only not hit the high fastball anymore… I can’t even see it. At least, not until just before it pelts me in the face. Again.
So, one wonders. Did Gayle ever really have cancer?
She never mentioned it on her Facebook page. But she doesn’t have a Facebook page. What’s the point? We only have one computer in the house, and that’s MINE! She’s not allowed to touch it.
Her son “BJ” hasn’t said anything about it on HIS Facebook page. But he doesn’t have a Facebook page either, for the same reason. MINE!! (And don’t you find it odd that Gayle says I’m her most excellent friend, but we haven’t spoken since last June? And if I was really her excellent friend wouldn’t she defy me and create a Facebook page just to put me on it to show how much she loves her new sunglasses? And why doesn’t MY excellent friend have a Facebook page he can put me on? It’s NOT FAIR!! MOMMY!!!)
The Grand HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOG!!!’s Facebook page, which I stalk every day, is nothing but repeats of the things he posts on his blog. But he has 33 friends.
I don’t have that many. Surprise! But to the two I do have, who are not my own sockpuppets, are any of these names familiar to you?
- John Doe
- John Dough
- John Dough (rhymes with “enough”)
- John D’Oh!
- John Deaux
- John Dow (rhymes with “blow”)
- John Dow (rhymes with “cow”)
- John D. Oh
- James Doe
- James Dough
- James Dough (rhymes with “enough”)
- James D’Oh!
- James Deaux
- James Dow (rhymes with “blow”)
- James Dow (rhymes with “cow”)
- James D. Oh
- Jane Doe
- Jane Dough
- Jane Dough (rhymes with “enough”)
- Jane D’Oh!
- Jane Deaux
- Jane Dow (rhymes with “blow”)
- Jane Dow (rhymes with “cow”)
- Jane D. Oh
- Richard Doe
- Richard Dough
- Richard Dough (rhymes with “enough”)
- Richard D’Oh!
- Richard Deaux
- Richard Dow (rhymes with “blow”)
- Richard Dow (rhymes with “cow”)
- Richard D. Oh
- Kurtis Blow
None of these friends bothered to comment on the unfortunate situation to befall the family Schmal***k. Odd, wouldn’t you say? Not even a “get well wish” from anyone that isn’t relayed through one of my 700 abandoned blogs?
Gayle does have a Twitter profile, which is also odd, wouldn’t you say? Since Papa Schmal***k controls her access to the world, the information she receives?
And does the name Matthew C. Ryan ring a bell?
The Story of Mathew C. Ryan of Austin, Texas, Part I
Now, let’s not get all excited. This is not a dox like the rest of my ever-so-newsworthy journomalistic writing efforts. It’s not even that much of a writing effort because I relied on my favorite pair of air-quote “writing” tools, the Ctrl-C and the Ctrl-V, to put together this post. This is a really REALLY badly constructed (Oh my GOD! You have NO idea!) plagiarism of an actual news story that occurred in 2008 and 2009 that bears remarkable similarity to an ongoing story that involves someone we all know and love, and by “we” I of course mean that it’s always and everywhere all about MEEEEEEE.
This is a story about past harassment and how it became about l’il ole MEEEEEEEE, an innocent babe in the woods who never harassed anybody. For TOTES SRS UGYZ!! 1!11!!ELEVENTY!!1!1!!ONE
This is gonna be a long one, but we’ll try to keep it snappy.
- SCUMBAGS aka “KINDRED SPIRITS” DEFAME TWO YALE STUDENTS
Here is the telling of the tale from the Business Journal (See? See!?! Attribution! Now I can steal all I want. FAIR USE FOR ME BUT NOT FOR THEE).
Brattiny Holler and Pasta Fagioli, two typically hyper-icky, stoopid, Title-IX biased entitlement wenches who stole my deserved place at Yale Law School, have recently had restored to them one newfangled nonexistent inalienable right—a right
yet tothat will never be enumerated in the United States Constitution but one that, increasingly, seems just about as essential to lame-brained observers such as your not-at-all-humble reporter. Once again, they can do Google searches on themselves and not see a torrent of abusive falsehoods pop up on the computer screen.
Type in Brattiny Holler, for instance, and you now get her article in the Yale Law Journal on genocide and something about her appearance years ago on I Was A Ukranian Teen In Jeopardy. For Fagioli, there’s a LinkedIn link that I stalk daily and a reference to her canvassing in high school for the Baby Seal Club, alongside 315,622 soup recipes. Scroll down, though, and you’ll find shocking remnants of what the two women have been subjected to in the past couple of years – which really doesn’t make much sense, not only when they Googled themselves (which is now legal in 38 states and throughout Canada) but whenever a law firm or a classmate or a date—or any other random demented pervo freak stalker, for that matter—checked them out. “Is Brattiny Holler a flying witch?” screams one link. “Pasta Fagioli deserves to be sprinkled with grated Parmesan and served hot with crusty bread,” shrieks another.
These horrible comments were posted on a website called “AutoDebit” which, thanks to CDA230, is immune from prosecution. But the individual posters? Holler and Fagioli had their work cut out for them if they were to regain their reputations.
Now, that has a familiar air to it. In 2007, a Google search of MEEEEEEEE! would pop up with my work at the NIH, my participation in a clinical trial for Parkinson’s disease, and my personal blogs (AND NEVER YOU MIND WHAT WAS IN THEM!!!).
The story continues…
In the view of Dov Halfman, a professor at Three Mosqueteers University Law School who has blogged about AutoDebit, the site offered its patrons a peculiar, vicarious kick: It allowed people who were straitlaced and risk-averse enough to want to be lawyers in the first place to become briefly, crazily irresponsible. Like normal people, and not a few zombies. They could spout outrageous lies, or, in the manner of Sacha Baron Cohen Harkkonen ali Baba bin Laden, invent entirely new personalities for themselves, invariably as homophobes, racists, or misogynists. Like MEEEEEEEEE!! Speaking a common language and flouting the same taboos, such posters became a close-knit fraternity of complete strangers who rarely even knew one another’s names. But for all their trash talk, many could even feel principled about their misbehavior; after all, they were free-speech absolutists. And they became cyber-survivalists when anyone tried to tone down or remove their posts.
Inevitably, naïfs stumbled onto the site and were mortified by what they saw. Among the most outraged was Mya Brainis-Lighter, then a professor at the University of Texas Law School. In early 2005, he counted 250 threads with the phrase “African-tinged” in them and 350 more with Jews or Jew, including “Are Jews smarter or just craftier?” Three hundred other threads had bitches or cunt in them (sound familiar??), and another 200 had fags. In March 2005, flush with manufactured PC-liberal offense-mongering self-righteousness, Brainis-Lighter complained about the site on his blog. He promptly met the fate of all AutoDebit critics. He was vilified so brutally on the site — for instance, in posts claiming that he had AIDS – that he retained counsel and briefly considered suing. (Think about that…a university law professor, holder of a law degree, one would think, retained counsel rather than proceeding pro se. What a concept. Staggering in its simplicity, really.) Jarret Cohen, no relation to Sacha Baron Cohen Harkkonen ali Baba bin Laden, fearing that he’d have to reveal the identities of his posters in any court action, stopped collecting their internet-protocol addresses, now known some eight years later simply as IP addresses, Mister Copy-and-Putz.
Women attacked on AutoDebit saw Light-Brainer as a sympathetic soul and emailed him with their horror stories. A black (why does that matter?) student at Vanderbilt Law School was so traumatized by such threads about her as “Gangbanged by 4 Cincinnati Bengals” that she had changed schools (Trigger warning: it had actually been 4 Bengals and 6 Carolina Panthers, and she needed the money). At one point, Vanderbilt officials contacted Cary Glinton, dean of students at University of Pennsylvania Law School, to complain. That Ciolli (who the fuck is Ciolli, Oh Great King Reporter?) attended the school was well-known around AutoDebit; people assumed that a powerful university administrator like Clinton would have some sway over him. On several occasions, Clinton suggested that Ciolli desist and warned him that his affiliation with the site could hurt him professionally; each time, Clinton says, Ciolli expressed anguish over what was happening but said he was powerless to stop it (probably because even back then he understood the ramifications of the anonymous mob mentality of the internet). And he would not walk away. “I refused to allow a few jerks to ruin what I thought was a good thing,” Ciolli (said).
It’s that wolf-pack mentality one sees in the way WJJ HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! and “Paul Krendler” whip up their readers in a white-hot, fierce (speak for yourself, bro…I’m coasting along at a comfortable 72ᵒ F hatred – PK) of MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! — a man they don’t know (except by their fruits ye shall know them) and only HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! has met or would ever want to.
The story continues with the concept of controversy as “click bait” as so ably employed by HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! and “Krendler,” a concept I have tried and failed a hundred times to emulate.
Soon, AutoDebit was the talk of Yale Law School. People were checking the site constantly—thereby, of course, moving the scurrilous links higher still on Google. When a group called Yale Law Women held a meeting in support of Holler and Fagioli, most of the law school, including the dean, Harold K. D’oh!, turned out. Quietly, the school attempted to ferret out the miscreants in its midst, going so far as to quietly interview any quiet gym-goers who might quietly be able to quietly identify the man who quietly described Fagioli’s getup (Hey, Joe Cut/Paste! What’s with the mysterious getup? Is there a hitch in it?). “It’s a quiet shit storm,” one quiet Yalie who’d quietly posted on AutoDebit quietly emailed a quiet friend. “There’s a quiet semi-hemi-demi-half-unrestrained witch-hunt mentality right now. But…quiet. Really, really quiet.
“Are you a good witch? Or a bad witch? A sea witch? Or a sandwich?”
Not everyone agreed with the women. Posters had targeted another first-year student, Ashleigh (like, OMG!) Kitchen, so viciously—“Who will Ashleigh Kitchen (prestigious sea witch) fuck first at Yale Law?” read one thread—that she had almost decided not to come to New Haven. But Kitchen thought it preferable to suck it up like a normal human and ignore such taunts or deal with them quietly rather than turn them into a cause célèbre like a whining puddle of fame-whoring goo. Other students, including some women, considered Holler and Fagioli overly sensitive and felt that Holler had overstated her employment difficulties. (She eventually landed a summer job at the prestigious San deVagina firm of Gritty, Crabinfested & Swollen, reportedly earning $3,080 a week plus all the free Starbucks she could drink.) But for all of Yale’s rapidly shrinking devotion to free speech, few students felt free to speak out.
After all, who wanted to be subjected to this filth? Who wants to be called a “cum-gargling fuckwit,” an “alcoholic has-been racist,” an “Asian mail order bride,” a “treacherous little liar and libel merchant” or a “poop-flaked, senile old fool?” Who wants disabled crazy people in Maryland filing for peace orders over a picture of a toy? Suck it up and grow a pair like Ashleigh.
Now the challenge before the women was to smoke out the defendants’ identities. It had to be easier than getting over themselves, laughing and moving on with their lives. Twice, two random dudes named Kreeker & Van Pest who are apparently thrown into this story without introduction because they have cool names or something, posted notices on AutoDebit asking posters to come forward and identify themselves; not surprisingly, this proved fruitless.
“Hi! We’d like to sue you and ruin your life. Please help us out by telling us who you are.”
“Go fuck yourself. Do the hard work and make your case to a judge first. Like you’re supposed to do.” And with the approval of KissedOffHer Poney, the CLINTON-APPOINTED federal judge who is hearing the case, Kreeker subpoenaed a number of the internet service providers that had carried the offending comments to AutoDebit. This too failed to yield much, in part because many posters had taken care to send their messages from internet cafés and other public computers. Because Smarter Than You.
But some of the defendants could easily be found through prior postings, and some emerged in other ways. One, Invincimus—whose description of Fagioli in the gym was surely one of the most innocuous of the quotes at issue—even approached Fagioli on campus to confess. He is a Yale law student named Dink Chainy, a young father who graduated from Bring’em Young University with another rising Democratic political star named Bert Timberland. (Chainy declined to comment. So we thought up some shit and assumed it was true because he never denied it by some arbitrary DOOM CLOCK!! deadline that I can’t even remember, but our editor cut that part of the story because he’s a RWNJ with NO JOURNALISTIC ETHICS!!) Another poster, Pollywalnuts, who helped run the online beauty contest that no one has mentioned so far in this oh-so-coherent and well-written tale, is a recent Seton Hall graduate named “I WANT IT ALL,” Doug Phillabomb. And Old Uncle Bastard, who had suggested that Fagioli
had “the clapwas worthy of a “round of applause” is a University of Iowa dropout named Matt Lillefelt.
More than the others, Lillefelt has made his lack of remorse over what he’d done a matter of public record, continuing to post and veering between incredulity, defiance, complete lack of contrition and nights of abject fear-pee soaked terror. “I didn’t mean to say anything bad,” he wrote importunately. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. What the fuck do I do when I have no friends, when I hate myself this much?” Perhaps, he thought, he’d become a medic and go fight in Lebanon. At least there, he wrote, he could die for a far worthier cause than defending what he’d done. “What I said about her was absolutely terrible, and I deserve to have my life ruined,” he wrote. According to rumor Lillefelt once called a Suicide Hotline and the person who answered the phone went out after his shift and threw himself off an overpass. When I spoke with Lillefelt months later, he was still emphatically puking on himself. He said he’d shelved plans for law school and was indeed enlisting in the military. “I said some really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, fucking stupid things on the fucking internet, I typed for literally, like, 36 months, and it devastated my life,” he told me.
For Matthew Ryan—the Atlanta Falcons quarterback whose alter ego, :D, claimed that Holler
had herpeswore a hairpiece—the lawsuit seems to pose little concern. According to what he subsequently wrote on the message board, he had no money or reputation to defend. “I’m giddy over meeting my cheerful, big-titted accuser in court,” he wrote. “I can’t wait to give her a big motorboat right in front of the judge!” Ryan, a recent graduate of the University of Middle Texas State, is trying to get his case dismissed, but he’s fine with going to trial—“I’m not a fan of frivolous, abusive litigation,” he told me—especially since his parents’ homeowner’s policy seems to cover his defense. Some other random character named Lamprey says the case against Ryan is the women’s strongest: “When we get to trial, the only question is going to be the amount of damages.” (Just like my case against HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! and “Krendler.” Emphasis added.)
They misspelled Ryan’s first name. (Not really…he has two first names.) According to the court documents, it’s Mathew, one “t”. This caused some confusion with an honorable lawyer with the “two t” version of the name who took a lot of hate mail that was due to “Mathew’s” activities, as well as some much more recent harassing phone calls that may or may not have been made by a stupid wannabe reporter.
Let’s discuss Mr. Ryan in a bit more depth.
2. JANE DOES I and II v. MATHEW C. RYAN, et al
This Mathew C. Ryan, who was a senior at the University of Texas at the time, is a piece of work…but then, who isn’t?
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—
nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
What makes him so special that he can get big magazine articles written about him, when I’ve doxed, stalked and harassed way more people than him? But no one writes fawning profiles about me unless I scrub my timeline and tell a bunch of lies to some other internet wannabe journalist to get their sympathy.
Ever the charming one, Ryan delves into insulting Doe II’s family, which is bad because EVERYONE KNOWS FAMILY IS OFF-LIMITS,
M’KAY, MRS. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!?
M’KAY, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGGY IV?
M’KAY, MRS. STRANAHAN?
M’KAY, MRS. MCCAIN?
M’KAY MRS. GRADY?
M’KAY, MR. JOHNSON’S DAUGHTERS?
NO FAMILIES ALLOWED.
Whose dad is that?
More later. I’m waiting on some spermemissions from some folks before relating the next part of the story.
The Story of Mathew C. Ryan of Austin, Texas, Part 2
In our last, ponderous, boring, poorly written and altogether incomprehensible tome, we introduced the reader to Mathew C. Ryan of Austin, Texas (not to be confused with the honorabld (Honor rabid? Honor bald? Hone a blade? WTF?) Matthew C. Ryan, Esq., also of Austin, whom we might have called by mistake five or six times, leading to profuse apologies and pathetic begging for him not to call the authorities on me for stalking yet again.) We discussed Ryan’s involvement in the AutoDebit lawsuit and his unrepentant state at the end when his name was revealed. We have discussed similarities between Ryan’s attack writing style and those of people who have been on my back for two years. What we are MOST DEFINITELY NOT HERE TO DISCUSS ARE THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN MY WRITING STYLE IN THE THOUSANDS OF PAGES OF DIARRHEA I HAVE CRAPPED ALL OVER THE INTERNET OVER THE LAST EIGHT YEARS, AND THAT OF THE “FORGED” ;-} LETTER I MAILED TO WJJ HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! LAST MONTH OVER MY SIGNATURE THAT ISN’T MY SIGNATURE BECAUSE IT LOOKS TOO MUCH LIKE MY SIGNATURE TO BE MY SIGNATURE BECAUSE MY SIGNATURE IS NEVER THE SAME TWICE AND NEVER MIND THAT IT DOESN’T LOOK EXACTLY LIKE MY SIGNATURE AND MUST THEREFORE BE MY SIGNATURE THE FACT IS IT LOOKS ENOUGH LIKE MY SIGNATURE THAT IT MUST NOT BE MY SIGNATURE!!!11!ELEVENTY!!!111!!!
Please, take a break. You must be dizzy right about now. You probably need a moment to catch your breath.
It seems like there’s someone out there, a sick and deranged fan of WJJ HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! III, who is desperate to find and get involved with “Paul Krendler”, who gets kicks out of attacking people on the internet, and by “people” I mean RWNJs who ever say a word against me, whether they are nice liberal Jewesses who may have had their identities spoofed by my excellent friends or not. I explicitly DO NOT MEAN demented freaks like this chick Deb Frisch – who, incidentally, is mightily pissed that the effect she pioneered got named after a relative nobody like Barbra Streisand, another nice liberal Jewess – that has somehow escaped the notice of an Intertoobz wizzard such as myself.
I. The Strange Case of Leroy Oddswatch
Ah, yes. “Cousin Leroy” who, as of late, has changed his last name to mine. Because we’re cousins. I have no idea who this person is, because I’m from the branch of the family tree that doesn’t fork. He could never cut it in my family – we’re too damn creepy for normal society. But that’s besides the point. Sanity is way overrated anyway.
His only claim to fame (if there were other claims to fame, they’d be on the internet, right? Everyone lives their whole life on the internet like me, don’t they?) is his involvement with the Internet Smearing of Deborah Frisch, better known as “that psychotic bitch from Oregon who makes me look like a piker.”
And clicking these various links will take you to a variety of sites written by someone who really, really paid close attention to Deb Frisch. Which is a hate crime. Just like HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! and “KREEEEEEEEEEENDLEEERRRRRRRRRR!!!” do to me.
(Hmmm…. who is always telling me “teh Internets is forever?” Well, this phony “A.B” who vanished (as far as I know. If he changed his name and/or tactics, how would I know unless some anonymous ukulele-playing tipster gets blackmailed into telling me. But no one has told me anything, so it must be so, because when I sendz teh TROLLZ into teh cornfeeldz dhey steys vanished!11!!ELEVENTY!!!1!!) when I exposed Andrew Ballard as a fake graduate of Middle Tennessee University. He used that line. Teh false prophet Paul Lemmen used it. In fact, it’s quite a popular phrase among teh Lickspittles who understand that it cuts both ways and have armed themselves with MUCH BIGGER SWORDS than I have.)
Notice the classic “Google Bombing” technique used in the AutoDebit case and in the Frisch documents, making sure the name rises to the top of Google searches. Just like was done to your certifiably batshit insane correspondent.
Again, the writing style. Not a thing like the writing style that I used in that “forged” letter I sent to HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! (always three exclamation points on HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! The number of Os is a matter of person preference. I like twenty-one because that’s how high I can count if I take all my clothes off. Which I how I like to be when I write about HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!
The use of the word “teh” for instance. Krendler thinks it’s cool. He uses it a lot. Because he’s cool. Very frequently, cuz he’s so damn cool. Really cool. I wish I could be like Krendler. Cool. That would be so cool. To be cool like Krendler. His readers use it too, because they want to be cool. Like Krendler. I love Krendler. I want to be cool like him. I try so hard to find him, but he stays hidden from me. Because he never loses his cool. Not like me. He makes me dance. Like a monkey. I dance for cool Krendler because I can’t resist the pain in my testiclefeet when he makes me dance. He’s so cool.
Krendler also uses the word EPIC a lot.
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! is fond of LOLsuit. So is Krendler. Because that’s what I filed against them. A big, stupid LOLsuit. For third degree aggravated butthurt. Which is not a tort, but who cares.
That seems to be a favorite of Krendler. The dumbass eleventy thing.
So…what are we driving at here? I’ll give you a hint – I got a big tub of it in the mail not too long ago.
More in the next segment.
I decided, as I oft-times will, to stop investigating when I have manufactured a conclusion that I believe but can’t prove, to cut to the chase and beard the lion in his den (to use a mixed metaphorical double-telescoping triple flashback cliche).
I just called someone at work (oh, wait, I don’t have a job!! It must have been someone else…), and I was ever-so polite, which is harder than you might think! We were chatting quite amicably until I mentioned my name and asked if it rang a bell with him. There was a pause, followed by…
“Bill…Schmal***k, did you say? Famed internet investigative journalist, satirist and jovial impresario? Broadway Bill Schmal***k, the World Renowned SiriusXM radio host? Man, my grandmother used to love your show!! You were Judge Wapner to her Rain Main up at the rest home…it was either your show or Thorazine. And…author of multiple bestselling autobiographies? Well known Parkinson’s Disease advocate and philanthropist? Purveyor of ribald and risqué comedy CDs featuring satirical skewerings of young Boy Scouts by ravenous homosexual wolves? Blogs by the dozens? Twitter handles by the hundreds? That Bill Schmal***k? Of course, I’ve heard of you! You’re practically world famous for your dogged persistence in the face of a life filled with failure! You are the anti-role model for children all over the planet! Everyone’s heard of you, Bill.”
I said, “Good. I got your name from these court filings and…”
So, here’s what we have so far.
In Part One, we butchered the tale of how Pasta Fagioli and Brattiny Holler decided not to just get over themselves and not give their tormentors the satisfaction of a public garment-rending, but instead exposed their shame and embarrassment to an exponentially larger audience by suing several anonymous commenters in a case that became known as the AutoDebit Suit. I received an anonymous tip last night from an excellent friend (who may or may not play the ukulele) who suggested I look into the writing style of one of the unmasked anonymous commenters. What I found was disgusting, but all too familiar – almost like I had written it myself.
In Part Two, we further exposed my idiocy by talking about how the abuse Pasta and Brattiny fought was recreated less than a year after the suit was settled by some clod using a variety of handles in his personal war against someone named Deborah Frisch, whom I obviously haven’t bothered to do any research on, because that would destroy the ever-so-objective narrative I am creating here. We alluded to information concerning an ongoing harassment of a young lady who has not yet given us permission to use her name, which didn’t stop me from doxing her anyway when I thought she was saying mean things about me.
The writing styles in all these cases of online abuse are remarkably similar to the sort of harassment I have received from “Paul Krendler,” “Leroy Groß***k (formerly known as Leroy Oddswatch), somebody named A.B. who vanished into the cornfield after I outed him as a fake Middle Tenneessee (where the hell is Tenneessee?) University graduate named Andrew Ballard, and — how could we leave out “Howard Earl”?
Are these five separate people? Or are they one and the same? My Occam’s Razor is out being sharpened, so I’m just going to assume it’s true unless someone proves me wrong by 3 AM tonight.
The person I called this afternoon could have answered that question for me, if he didn’t smell teh EPIC #BATSHITCRAZY through the phone from 1500 miles away and hang up as soon as I told him that I got his name at random from some court documents that an anonymous excellent ukulele-playing friend who is desperate not to get sued suggested I look at.
That person’s name is a matter of public record as a named defendant in the AutoDebit suit. His name is Mathew C. Ryan (one “t” for those of you readers who are blind and having this read aloud to you by a friend) of Austin, Texas, not to be confused with the noted and respected attorney, also from Austin, named Matthew C. Ryan (two “t’s” for those of you readers who are blind and having this read to you aloud by a friend). He is noted, respected and admired for accepting my apology because I may have called him twelve or fifteen times last night between 11 PM and 4 AM by mistake and awakened both his wife and their nearly three-year old daughter, a lovely child who was born in a private maternity/delivery suite on an upper floor at Parkland Hospital in Dallas in April of 2013, a mere 6 and a half months after he and his perfectly lovely bride Alison were married in an outdoor ceremony held at the ranch near Dallas where the exteriors of the CBS TV series Dallas were filmed. The ceremony was attended by nearly 3000 of their closest friends and donors to the many political campaigns of the bride’s father, noted chemical engineering entrepreneur and multi-millionaire “Big Al” Doucette of Fort Worth.
(why do I keep DOING this to myself? Restraining Order #5 in state #4, here I come!)
As I wait to see whether or not the judge allows me to continue my suit IFP (no, REALLY!!!!), I will give Mr. Krendler a chance to explain his bad self (you DAAAAAAMN right!). The best explanation would be to shut down his hate blog and salt the earth over it so nothing grows there again.
If nothing else, it would prove that Krendler has no more understanding of the definition of the word “explanation” than I do. Because what’s really happening here is my 20th (I think…I can’t count any higher with my clothes on…) attempt to blackmail Krendler with embarrassment and shame (I hope he has some…I don’t) into closing his blog and stopping his constant epic mockery of me with such glee and rapier wit. I’m sure it will work this time, because now I’ve got this Texas boy dead to rights!! Times !11!1!ELEVENTY!!!11! (or five. I don’t know. Whatever. Makes no nevermind to me.)
Then, when that day comes, as it eventually must because it is my will around which reality bends like an old sofa around my wide ass, I shall ask WJJ HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! III under oath why he does business with people like this, who harass innocent people (not me), women (jury’s out) and the disabled (does “endless whining butthurt” qualify as a disability? If so, GOLDEN). Does this fulfill some sort of “need to get even” from being bullied in his youth? I know that’s why I am compelled beyond all reason to do it; for him, I got no clue).
But I intend to find out.
If you would like to speak to Mr. Ryan, shoot me an e-mail at loadofbutthurt at gmail dot com, and I’ll
doxHOOK you up.
No Bad Decision Passes Unnoticed
When I heard that HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!’s wife had cancer, I had a choice of doing the smart thing, or doing the ethical thing.
Guess what I chose? As you think about that, consider that I don’t know what the word “explanation” means.
I chose to do the ethical thing. Here is my “explanation” for doing so.
Today, I got my answer. He took my email to the sheriff and sought a criminal charge for violation of a Peace Order.
Because I violated a Peace Order.
Let that sink in.
I willingly, consciously, knowingly, and with complete understanding of the potential consequences of my actions, violated the peace order. Sure, I tried to make it look honorable, like I did it to offer help to a man whose wife has cancer, but there’s not a thing in the law regarding exceptions for supposed intent. I knew what I was doing was NOT THE RIGHT THING TO DO. And I did it anyway. And I would do it again. Because self-control. And self awareness. And Parkinson’s. And HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!
And he files charge #368.
I’m such a bastard. teeheehee!
It’s A Fair Cop. I Made an Excuse of an Offer to Help His Wife. He Wants to Put Me In Jail (Or Maybe He Would Be Satisfied If I Could Just KEEP MY GODDAMN MOUTH SHUT!!! Nah, That Can’t Be It.).
I’ve just sent this e-mail to the Carroll County State’s Attorney Office.
Dear Mr. Grote:
I see where Mr. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! has gotten his 368th charge against me for violating his peace order. The one that I can’t convince anybody he lied to me about. The one he told me he wasn’t going to pursue if I behaved myself, which I didn’t. The one he told me I didn’t need to travel to Westminster for, as he had no intention to pursue his appeal of the District Court’s denial of even a temporary peace order unless I fell back into the same behavior that I LIED TO HIS FACE ABOUT when I told him I was going to change.
This one is different.
This time, sir, I did willingly and knowingly violate the peace order.
On Feb.13, I noted that HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! told his readers that his wife’s recent spinal fracture was occasioned by bone cancer.
I thought about it – long and hard (TNWSS) – for about three nanoseconds, and I decided it would be a brilliant idea to send him this e-mail.
So, if it helps in the decision-making process, yes. I did willingly and knowingly, with malice and forethought, violate the peace order. I had to make a choice between doing the smart thing or doing the most unbelievably dumbest fucking thing I could possibly do. I mean, I had already sent him a letter through the mail. And doing that again would take three to five business days! He needed this crucial public relations information RIGHT AWAY! He would never have known about the National Institute of Health, where I was making $97,000 a year until I was forced to retire due to my Stage ELEVENTYFIVE Parkinson’s Disease, unless I sent it to him. The man has no Google-Fu whatsoever. So you see, I had no choice in the matter. If Mr. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! wasn’t such a doofus when it comes to modern technology and search engines (Deborah Frisch stalked Howard Earl? Why didn’t I know that?) I would not have been FORCED to send this email sharing with Mr. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! this information I made available to him. If he thinks so little of his wife that he wants to ignore me…
… and put me in jail for up to 90 days and/or a $1000 fine – that I can’t pay from my $2000 savings account that I wouldn’t bother cracking open for a filing fee or to settle a debt with Arrow Financial – for harassing him under the guise of offering to help her with essentially useless information that anyone can find using Google, then who am I to stop him?
MLK (I keep typing Moron Lather Kong for some reason…whatever) had to make choices between obeying unjustly applied laws or doing “the right thing” or using the proper conjunction “and” to distinguish a choice.
The difference is, he wasn’t a vile, demented cyberstalking freak, subject to multiple peace orders/restraining orders in multiple states.
Mohandas Gandhi had the same choices.
The difference is, he wasn’t a vile, demented cyberstalking freak, subject to multiple peace orders/restraining orders in multiple states.
Both went to jail rather than violate their ethics.
The difference is, their causes were just.
There is nothing harassing(DANGEROUS) in this e-mail(HANDGUN). There is nothing even strongly-worded(REMOTELY DEADLY). It is a sincere offer to help(AN INERT OBJECT WITH NO POTENTIAL FOR HARM IN THE WRONG HANDS).
Mr. Grote, if it is your decision to prosecute, then I am at your mercy. If I must go to jail, then I must go to jail. Which is far more than I deserve.
Peace, and Be Well, My New Best Friend,
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! Dodges Responsibility for Filing Charges Against Disabled Man’s Offer to Help His Cancer-Stricken Wife
Have you ever seen a more mealy-mouthed explanation for the filing of charges than this that I didn’t put forth myself?
Oh my, yes! They consulted and consulted. And figured and collated facts. And with no help at ALL from WJJ HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!, they came to their own conclusion to file charges against me for a clear and convincing violation of the Peace Order that occurred when I sent an e-mail offering to assist Mrs. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! obtain FREE health care through the National Institutes of Health where I worked six years before PD made me retire, an e-mail which was far more creepy and solicitous than the letter I snail-mailed him, but equally illegal because – and I just can’t figure this out – “no contact” really does mean NO. CONTACT! KOOKY, RIGHT?
I imagine the arrest going something like this…
SCENE: The Howard County, Maryland, Sheriff’s office where Detective Inspector Mizuno and Constable Rawlings are going through their Monday afternoon reports. The constable sits up and sniffs the air.
MIZUNO: Caught a scent of something, old bean?
RAWLINGS: P’rhaps..sit tight for a bit.
He goes to the door, opens it, and takes in a deep heavy breath. He turns to Detective Mizuno.
RAWLINGS: Might want to don your greatcoat, Inspector. It’s ‘appened again.
MIZUNO: Peace order violation? (dramatic sting)
RAWLINGS: Indeed, sir.
MIZUNO: So that’s what that foul brimstone stench is. Most unpleasant.
RAWLINGS: Wretched, is what it is , sir. Could only be one man.
MIZUNO: Some tea before we go?
RAWLINGS: Fortified? We’ll need it.
MIZUNO (reaching for his bottom desk drawer): Goes without saying, Constable.
RAWLINGS: I’ll put on the kettle.
20 minutes later, after a strong mug and scones by the brace, the intrepid lawmen trudge forward into the misty, cold afternoon.
RAWLINGS: Smells like it’s come from ye olde trailer parke, says I.
MIZUNO: How can you be sure? The whole neighborhood reeks of fifty-seven varieties of vileness. Well, here’s the turning for the entrance, won’t be long now.
RAWLINGS: Never fear, sir. I’m a regular bloodhound, I am.
MIZUNO: Quite so, old man. There it is. Give the doorknob a rattle, Constable.
RAWLINGS: Will do, sire.
The door swings open easily. SCHMAL***K is seated at his desk chair. He is snoring, face down on the desk in a crusted stain of rancid mayonnaise. His monocle dangles by a fine silver chain nearly to the floor where his sterling silver rolly walker, “Reputation,” is parked. In his right hand, a half-eaten frankfurter.
MIZUNO: SCHMAL***K. SCHMAL***K, old boy!
He slaps SCHMAL***K lightly. No response. He kicks him sharply in the thigh. Nothing. He draws out a switchblade, but Rawlings stops him.
RAWLINGS: Let me have a whack at him, guv’nah.
Rawlings rolls up his shirt sleeves, slips on a set of brass knuckles, pulls a roll of tape from his coat and wraps his hand. Then Rawlings goes into the grubby kitchen and finds a commemorative McDonalds drinking glass, featuring Mayor McCheese. He throws it into the sink, where it shatters. Rawlings grinds his wrapped fist in the breakage, covering it with fine shards of 35 year old lead-painted silicate. He rushes back to the front room and, leaping high, delivers a devastating Superman punch to SCHMAL***K ‘s right temple.
SCHMAL***K: (Awakens, rubs the side of his head with the uneaten hot dog, smearing mayonnaise into the bloody wound) Bloody Hellman’s!
MIZUNO: Excellent knock, Constable!
RAWLINGS: Thank you, sir.
SCHMAL***K: I sense you are here, about…THIS!
(SFX: DRAMATIC STING)
SCHMAL***K holds the blood smeared hot dog out to the detective.
MIZUNO: I ain’t touchin’ that…
SCHMALF***K: Oh. Sorry. (He shoves the bloody weiner down his cakehole, then reaches over and clicks the computer mouse.) I mean…THIS!
The screen pops to life and there is the email that SCHMALF***K sent to HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!
MIZUNO: Zounds! Right again, Constable. It’s a PEACE ORDER VIOLATION.
RAWLINGS: The nose knows, guv’nah.
MIZUNO: Sent to that HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! fellow again, no doubt. (The name issues from the detective’s mouth like a heavenly chorus of angels.)
SCHMAL***K: Quite. But what was I to do? HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!’s poor, long suffering wife has just been diagnosed with (DRAMATIC STING) cancer! I have information and wisdom to impart! It’s the ethical, moral, certifiably insane thing to do. I had no choice! HE FORCED MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! I’m a victim of mental manrape, just like a satirical Boy Scout!
RAWLINGS: ‘ere now, ‘ave a care, SCHMAL***K, old boy. We are prepared.
Mizuno reaches into his waistcoat pocket and produces a police whistle. He blows it once. In a trice, there is a shattering of the high window above the kitchen sink as the NEW STATE’S ATTORNEY dives through the kitchen window onto the shards of glass on the cheap Goodwill rug in front of the sink. He somersaults to his feet, smoothly brushing the glass shards from his bespoke suit.
STATE’S ATTORNEY: I believe, lest my ears deceive me — and they never do — that was the peace order whistle.
RAWLINGS: Brilliant deduction, sir.
MIZUNO: Yes, sir. Wonderful ear.
STATE’S ATTORNEY: And since the dual tones of the whistle were in the keys of D and F, that tells me one thing.
ALL AT THE SAME TIME: DEMENTED FREAK WILLIAM SCHMAL***K!
STATES’ ATTOREY: Well, this blackguard will find the new Carroll County State’s Attorney a much more formidable foe than his predecessor, bless his soul, damned in hell forever as a suicide.
THE OTHER THREE: AH-MEN!
STATE’S ATTORNEY: Well, let us coordinate with our counterparts in Carroll County to secure the capture and timely delivery of this dangerous villain to their jurisdiction. Inspector Mizuno. Are the Carroll County Jail inmates oiled?
MIZUNO: OILED AND READY, SIR.
SCHMAL***K (excitedly): Excellent! Well then, let’s be off. But hold! (Produces a pint of frozen yogurt.) Not before some Fro Yo, I hope!
STATES ATTORNEY: But of course! After all, we are not savages!
Four bowls are filled.
STATES ATTORNEY(Raising his bowl as the others do likewise): May I do the honors, Sai SCHMAL***K?
SCHMAL***K (bowing): Be my guest!
STATE’S ATTORNEY: William SCHMAL***K, you son of a bitch
May your balls develop a 7 year itch
May your pecker be twisted up in such a manner
That your asshole can whistle the Star Spangled Banner!
MIZUNO and TIMMONS: Huzzah! Pip! Pip!
Everyone digs in. Three sighs of satisfaction can be heard along with the grunting of one snarfing down his bowl, then reaching for the other three and draining them.
A loud belch.
STATE’S ATTORNEY: Now, me lads. Let us be off. Duty calls. Rawlings, the cuffs!
SCHMALF***K: Wait! Can I have a moment to put the footrests on my wheelchair?
MIZUNO: Nay, sir. Your wheelchair would be confiscated at the jailhouse door in any case. We’ve brought along two strapping young orderlies from Spring Grove with their reinforced steel handcart. I assure you all care will be taken.
As they begin to wedge SCHMAL***K through the broken window, SCHMALF***K’s wife comes in the front door.
MRS. SCHMALF***K: Good ‘Eavens! What’s all this, then?
SCHMALF***K: (POINTING AND SHOUTING) WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOME FROM THE TRUCK STO- uh, I mean, YOUR KNITTING CLUB! GET BACK OUT THERE, HIDEOUS, BELOVED WRETCH! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU SEEN OR HEARD FROM WHILE THERE ARE TRICKS TO BE, uh, SWEATERS TO BE KNITTED!
MRS. SCHMALF***K: (Slinks away) Yes, m’love. You always know what’s best.
SCHMALF***K: Before you go… how is your throat? Are you feeling quite weary?
MRS. SCHMALF***K: (Turns toward him) Quite pained and weary, Mr. SCHMALF***K. The jaws and throat are quite sore today.
SCHMALF***K:(Sneeringly) Sore enough to keep you from scrubbing the bathroom floor where I carelessly dropped Mister Bigs this morning? (He titters and claps his hands with childish malice.)
MRS. SCHMALF***K: (Resigned) No, my love. I will scrub the floor. Then change your wet bed linens, shovel out young BJ’s sty, and chew the stains from your dainties before I take my customary headache powder and retire to…the knitting club.
SCHMALF***K!!!: See to it that ALL the stains are chewed out. FRONT and REAR.
MRS. SCHMALF***K: Yes, my lord and master.
RAWLINGS snaps the cuffs on SCHMALF***K, and he and MIZUNO take him each by an arm and drag him out the door.
SCHMALF***K: ATT-I-CA! ATT-I-CA! ATT-I-CA!
STATE’S ATTORNEY: Oh, shut it, yeh great, farty bastard wanker!
The door closes behind them. MRS. SCHMALF***K takes out her phone and presses a speed dial.
MRS. SCHMALF***K: Hello, John? Thank you. I’m forever grateful for everything you’ve done. Can you call some local Lickspittles to come and help me pack?
(Author/Editor’s note – when you take the time, let your first draft rest for a bit, then come back and proofread, you wind up with a gem like “Bloody Hellman’s!” – PK)