The Importance of Letting Go In Your Depends





When I leave someone alone but still check his blog multiple times a day because I’m really only pretending that I have any self-control, the person I’m pretending to ignore will have no difficulty pwning me again because he knows exactly how often I visit his site and what a complete, lying, bullshit-slinging DUMBFUCK I truly am.

In my case, when my beloved truck stop dolly died and they zipped the bag closed over her, it struck me that I would never have to look at that face again. It was like Christmas, the Fourth of July, my birthday, and Cub Scout Camporee Weekend all rolled into one! She was gone, out of my life. For now and forever there would be no one to stop me chasing fat little scouts in my rolly walker. Easy to catch, hard to kidnap.

The same is true when a personality who has single-handedly been providing comedy for The Longest-Running DUMBFUCK Ridiculing Blog In The History Of The Internet moves to Wisconsin but still can’t stop visiting that exquisitely painful blog because it is a masochistic narcissist even more addicted to butthurt than it is to mayonnaise – which it can now buy in the gallon size since there’s no goddamn penicillin and cranberry juice taking up space in the refrigerator. The mentally-healthy person realizes that you can take the Cub Scout out of the lying DUMBFUCK with a stomach pump, but you can’t take the lying DUMBFUCK out of the Cub Scout without a crowbar. A lying DUMBFUCK can pretend to be gone, but everyone knows a lying DUMBFUCK gotta lie like a DUMBFUCK. The mentally healthy person told a DUMBFUCK exactly what to do if it wants to be left alone. It will be mocked for anything it does on the Internet, whether it responds to the mockery or not. If the lying DUMBFUCK can’t stop being an idiot on the information superhighway, well…in the words of its useless, ankle-biting cheerleader, the mockery continues.

It will take some adjustment. I note with a breath of optimism that when I don’t wave my useless dick around on the Internet doing the normal, monumentally moronic things I do, that the blogger doesn’t make fun of me as often. All he can do is point out that I am lying about leaving him alone while reading his blog every single day because I have no self-control. I can suggest that his numbers are dropping down into a range approximately 8000% higher than the cumulative numbers at my 26 different active blogs, most of which I can’t remember. When one says, “Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!” and the DUMBFUCK continues to respond by visiting every day, at some point even a DUMBFUCK has to realize that if it just shuts up and goes away forever, the blogger will keep his word and move on for as long as it stays absolutely silent, including starting another listener free internet radio station like Smoke A Big Fat Cock On Live Radio. Or something.

As for myself, I know I will never be anything that can be called “truly happy” again. But that’s no reason not to sign up for fifteen different senior dating sites in hopes of finding someone as gullible as dolly to wait on me as if I am as disabled as I tell people. But I know how unlikely that is, so I reach for “malcontentment” as an alternative. I’m fairly close to that goal. I love my new place, new friends and neighbors who haven’t gotten to know me well enough for me to want to stalk them yet, being close to my sister who is really good at pretending she likes having me around. I think I have even figured out a way to sneak the Cub Scouts in through the service entrance, and I’m almost done soundproofing the second bedroom, too. You wouldn’t believe the stuff you can buy on Amazon! Sadly the life insurance is almost gone. I’m back in “God’s Country,” whether they want me or not. (They don’t.)

For people like me who can’t or will not let go, my only choice is to suffer the pangs of permanent butthurt. The more you mock me, the more it hurts and the closer I come to the day when I put a loaded handgun in my mouth and redecorate the nice new Packers comforter on the bed behind me.
Existing in a constant state of psychological pain is no way to live, but I try. For people like me who visit blogs that do nothing but give me butthurt, who cannot let go, let us all hope that this suffering ends soon. Maybe I can ask one of my uncle’s associates down on the South Side of Chicago to make a quick trip up here to take care of it as a favor to him.

One way or another.

NOTE: To those who might think this is directed at an individual, or at him or herself, I recommend a glance at Proverbs 28:1. I’ve never actually read it myself, but I’ve heard it’s relevant. I don’t know why. Whatever. Makes no nevermind to me.


Author: Paul Krendler

The Thinking Man's Zombie

15 thoughts on “The Importance of Letting Go In Your Depends”

  1. Hmmmm, wonder if raping boy scouts radio stories will go over well with his neighbors?
    Someone is bound to google him or he is bound to play one.

    Also has the racine police dept been called yet?

      1. Oh, and the staff is aware of who he is, courtesy of yours truly, and a few greenbacks.

        One fuckup, and he and his rolly-walker will be contemplating the curb. Again.

  2. Morning, Cousin Bill! Ah, morning, that black and dismal time of day when WILLIAM SCHMALFELDT, SR., ALLEGED RAPIST, realizes that he was not even minimally fortunate enough to have died peacefully in his sleep, and he must muck his way through the constant, pain filled torture of another day of humiliating FAIL...

    How happy all those other people in the Home must seem, by comparison, and how it must grate, in contrast to the complete and abject failure that BILL SCHMALFELDT, ALLEGED RAPIST, has experienced in his six decades of "meh"-inspiring assholery...

    Yup, sucks to be you, Cousin Failure.

    But, meh.

  3. I still question why a 60 year old man needs his sister and her friends to figure out what he needs to live in his apartment. Has he never taken ANY responsibility for himself? 60 fucking years old and is still depending on others to take care of his childish ass.

  4. “My wife dying is just like my IP address changing.”

    Makes sense. Except it was much, much better than that for SGotCU. Finally, she’s out of that godforsaken tincasa. With any luck, DUMBFUCK lost her somewhere along the side of the road in Indiana.

    I hear Speedway is nice this time of year.

    1. Did you get a look at his appearance? What a freaking slob. I assume it was SGotCU who made him keep his hair cut, that scraggly, nasty beard shaven, and his lazy, unkempt, ample ass showered.

      Disgusting pig.

  5. Does he really occupy a two-bedroom apartment in that assisted-living facility? Why would the Deranged Cyberstalker Bill Schmalfeldt need two bedrooms? It's not as if he has any friends or family who would come and stay with him. And, a two-bedroom would certainly cost more than a one-bedroom. I suppose it doesn't make a worthless, lazy leech no nevermind. Such a cretin need not bother to consider cost when it's not *his* money he abuses and wastes.


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