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So are you gonna call into tomorrow’s show, Patrick? Bill posts the number to call into the show, so you should do it. Confront him man to man. You can’t be afraid of him. Are you? Are you afraid of him? HA. You are. That’s so cute. And don’t pull the i’m too busy crap because this blog is evidence that that’s bullshit. Call in and talk to Bill, big man. Show your son how a man handles his disputes.
Let’s get one thing clear right from the start – you’re wrong, Bill is wrong, everybody is wrong.
You do realize, do you not, that there are now at least three self-authenticating court documents floating around various Maryland courts asserting I am three different people, and all of them are wrong?
Bill Schmalfeldt’s perjured, retaliatory Peace Order from November 2014 identifies Patrick Grady as me. How interesting it would have been if Bill had shown up then – this notion that I am Patrick Grady would no longer be an issue, but Bill has publicly demonstrated his dishonesty and cowardice many, many times. It’s why he’s no longer welcome to comment on my blog. It’s why after blustering for weeks that he couldn’t WAIT! to get Grady under oath, he shuffled, weeping, just as fast as his sticky little legs could carry him – though not quite as fast as HIS children ran from him – for the hills above Elkridge with skirts held high. The Big Girly Girl had everything he’d begged for – a man-to-man confrontation, under oath, in open court – and what did he do?
He pussied out. Like the coward he is. And even worse, he TOLD EVERYONE WHAT A COWARD HE WAS AHEAD OF TIME! Oh, sure, he painted it as some magnanimous gesture (just like when he pussied out in June), but he does that with such regularity and predictability that no one ever believes him. He’s pussied out so many times he could be a Baltimore street
That’s a man who OWNS his cowardice. Must give props for that!
That was some terrific entertainment, watching him humiliate himself! There’s not much he can do with BBs as small as his, but he’s the best coward a zombie could ever hope to make dance.
Good stuff! Though I had to rest my LULZ muscle for a couple days after that. Well, we all have to make sacrifices…
When John Hoge posted the Cook County IL Stalking No Contact Order, and Bill called Pat Grady not two minutes later to ask if he was me, the tale was pretty much told, wouldn’t you say?
Not to be dissuaded in his desperate obsession, he tried again. In his recent Federal LOLsuit he named me and Howard Earl as anonymous defendants, then in the complaint he rererred to us as one and the same. So, obviously I’m not Patrick Grady (unless I’ve been pwning Bill as part of Knot My Wisconsin for 5 years – COOL!)…I’m anonymous again! Yay, me! Everybody celebrate with a Salt Monster avatar – WHOOO!
(Of course that was just one of a couple hundred fatal mistakes, but Not Educating The Monkey is sort of a thing around here, so…sorry.)
Or perhaps poor dumb Mr. Bill (on the tool bench, with the Sawzall!) is just fishing!
But me and Howard?
Our writing styles aren’t similar at all!
Even I must admit that if there’s one thing Bill knows, it’s writing styles. Well, right up until it comes time to admit that he wrote, in his very unique style, and signed, in his very own hand, a letter which was mailed to and received by WJJ Hoge III, one of several direct violations of a standing Peace Order by a deranged, adjudicated cyberstalker and harasser.
And coward. Let’s not forget about that.
And now, with Copyright Registration in hand – well, TDPK’s hand, if we’re speaking God’s honest truth – Bill has gotten placed in the public record an allegation that I am WJJ Hoge III!
Bill stinks of desperation. And fear. And where there is fear, there must be fear-pee. Stained sweat pants and stale diapers pungent with sulfur and natural ammonia.
And the ever-present cowardice that must not be forgotten.
Confront him man to man? How would that happen – does Bill even know any men he could bring with him? Grady tried it in November, and we all know how that turned out. Brave Sir William of Tincasa Skirtsflap, Lord High Duke of Cocksnogging and the Seventh Earl of Boyscout Buttsex scuttled off whimpering for a hiding place leaving a great snaily trail of greasy twat-sand leaking from his overfilled mangina. So I ask you, why bother trying again? He had his chance at the truth and ran like the…what, class? That’s right! – like the MEWLING CRYBABY COWARD THAT HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN, THE COMPLETE FUCKING EMBARRASSMENT TO THE ELDER BROTHERS WHO CONSTANTLY BAILED HIM OUT OF THE CORNERS HE BACKED HIMSELF INTO, BROTHERS WITHOUT WHOM HE IS A FLY BUZZING AROUND EAGLES.
Me, afraid? So sorry. Asked and answered, counselor.
The phrase you’re looking for is Smarter. Than. You. And him, and Brett, and surely Wee Willy FiFi. Did I leave anyone out?
Could I call him? Sure, I could make the time to call in, run rings around him, and make him look more foolish than he does his ownself, but what would be the point? It would be like trying to make horse manure smell bad, like trying to make mud dirty, like trying to make a trailer park a less attractive place to spend your golden years.
And as far as having a dispute with Bill, I would say it’s less of a dispute than a difference of opinion. He aims to get some sort of misbegotten revenge on me, because he made the mistake of writing something vile and filthy about another man’s wife and called it comedy, which I pumped up with steroids, threw back in his face and gived him sadz and butthurt. That he read it to his wife and upset her, too?
Not my problem.
I, on the other hand, aim to mock him until, one way or another, he goes away.
And besides, usually when a guest calls into an internet-chat show (radio? Hardly. This is WNBE, Radio Wannabe!), he GETS something out of it – he’s there to promote a product, a book, a movie, and album, a play, a business. Tell me, what does Paul Krendler GAIN from calling in to talk with world-famous former XM radio host and banned xmfan forum contributor, The Jovial One, Broadway Bill Schmalfeldt? Certainly not another opportunity to mock him mercilessly; those are as common as sand on a beach, and easier to find.
There’s nothing in it for me.
But if you and Bill are so sure that I’m Patrick Grady, isn’t the solution obvious? It’s a matter of public record that he has two phone numbers he can call to reach the man. Call him up.
…hmmm…would this be a good time to remind you…Coward? Yes, I think it would. Suck it up, man. Poke them digits.
Zombie’s can’t have children, but if I did they would all know Krendler’s Rules of Conflict Resolution:
- Bleach destroys DNA.
- Never forget Rule #1.
There are a hundred other reasons not to call. Most of them have to do with the fact that you and the rest of the non-existent yet transparent Team Kimberlin are both desperate and stupid, and I am neither.