Let’s take a look and see what we really have here…
I don’t wish to swat you.
Of course you don’t. You didn’t wish to sue anybody either. You didn’t wish to harass a toddler. You didn’t wish to write an anonymous memoir from posts you stole from me. You didn’t wish to bother Lynn Thomas’s parents. I’m sure there are a METRIC PANTLOAD of other things you didn’t wish to do, BUT YOU DID THEM ANYWAY.
I am sure that, like every other stupid fucking thing you have ever done in your life (pop quiz: which is bigger, A – the number of stupid things you’ve done, or B – the number of days you’ve lived? I’ll take A), it was someone else’s fault, and they FORCED you to do it.
In the end, I’m going to bow to the empirical evidence and NEVER GIVE YOU THE CHANCE. You don’t know who I am, you’ve never known who I am, and you never will know who I am.
But know this: in the impossible event that you ever do find out, the local police are waiting for your call. It will not go as you have fantasized.
I wish to hold you accountable in court for your libel.
You need a new strategy. Perhaps you could wish for ten million dollars. Because that might actually happen.
and for the stuff about Gail.
Gail is gone. You have no standing. Good luck with that. I’m sure it will be FUN to watch and catalog the FAIL.
If that stuff were to vanish, never to be seen again and you were to cease with the daily bullshit, no worries.
You had the option to make that happen once. You were foolish not to make the best of it. Now?
I’ll promise that right now.
Wow. A promise from DUMBFUCK. I think everyone who reads this blog knows what a promise from you is worth. Tell you what, here’s a one time offer: post an unedited video on YouTube of you, eating one of these (ironic, wouldn’t you agree?) with only water to wash it down and keeping it down for just 10 measly minutes. And you know what, here’s a sweetener, because I’m such a great guy. You don’t even have to keep it down, as long as you puke on camera. Posting the video is non-negotiable, though.
You do that, and I will take down The Thinking Man’s Zombie the very same day. PERMANENTLY. THIS I PROMISE. And this is MY GUARANTEE: You can trust this promise precisely as much as one of your own. This deal hinges on the integrity of one person, and that person is NOT me.
If the video does not appear online by 5:00 PM Eastern Standard Time on February 15, 2016, the offer is withdrawn.
No “Paul Krendler?” No reason for me for me to learn his ID and sue him. Everybody wins.
And I just told you how to make it happen. Everybody wins! It’s so simple even a DUMBFUCK could do it. Show us the stand-up guy you really are. Chomp, chomp!
You are a good writer.
Coming from a writer of your caliber, that may be the most backhanded, useless compliment I’ve ever heard! And I’ve heard some doozies.
Imagine the freedom of not having to come up with some new insult every day.
Are you joking? You speak as if what I do is a chore, and you could not be more wrong! It’s more like waking up every morning and getting to see your kids growing up.
Oops. Sorry. You wouldn’t know about that, would you?
What I do is the blogging equivalent of being the taster for Ben & Jerry’s. My worst days are the ones when you are silent! (It’s almost like THERE’S A LESSON THERE) Coming up with a new insult IS FREEDOM.
You know what they say: “Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” To me, finding a new insult is like Albert Pujols finding a hanging curveball. BOOM!
Write about stuff you care about. Just leave me out of it.
But DUMBFUCK…you ARE the stuff I care about! As a…(well, I can’t honestly say a wise man…and to say “wide man” is just such a cheap joke…but it has the benefit of being true…)…as a man once said, or twice, or nine times, “You are my new pet project!” I can’t remember who it was that said that. Maybe you do.
You have defined your role as some perversion of a yellow dog attack journalist, and that’s nothing I can change nor do I care to try. But you get to define yourself…and take 100% of the responsibility for it.
So do I.
You get to pick and choose targets, moving from one to the next with your cute little antics.
So do I. But so far…I’m good with just one. You lucky motherfucker, you.
Just take down that turdsrfood site. Please.
Oh, how touching! The pathetic begging is an especially bullshit touch.
But that site isn’t mine. Sure I have other sites that you don’t know about, and some that you never will. But that is not one of them. Only your manipulative “friends” could be so cruel as that.
Go file a DMCA claim. File a copyright infringement lawsuit. Get that site taken down. None of us own it. None of us run it. None of us care.
Makes no nevermind to me.
I will say this, through. If turdsrfood were my site, nothing short of an order from a court would get me to take it down. Pathetic begging from a shitbag like you is a complete non-starter. But it’s good for LULZ! So there’s that.
So you’re going to do this until one of us is dead?
Of course not. You’ve heard of this guy?
PHANTOM – the Ghost Who Walks.
If I should fall, someone else will take up the mantle. I will never die. As I was chosen, I have chosen my successor. Each Krendler chooses the next.
No, it won’t go on until one of us dies. Krendler will survive both of us.
But all the evidence available leads to the inevitable conclusion that you want nothing so much as for it to go on. How many chances have you been given to make it stop? You don’t even remember, do you?
And what follows next tells your tale, doesn’t it?
I am no threat to you, and you are certainly no threat to me.
But you won’t leave it alone, will you, you DUMBFUCK?
But as long as turdsrfood is online, as long as you continue attacking me, I will fight back.
This, in the vernacular, is bullshit.
John Hoge leaves you alone, and you attack him.
He settles a copyright suit and asks his readers to leave you alone…and they do…and you write a book about me.
Dave Alexander says something about you, and you try to contact his employer.
Scott Hinckley says something about you, and you faildox three dog trainers (one couple and one single woman) before figuring out that his website was linked in his Word Press ID.
Has anyone ever told you what a fabulous investigative journalist you are, instead of calling you a fucking stalker? This is why not.
So, again, based on the empirical evidence, I’m going to go the other way and say “go fuck yourself with the business end of a rake.”
I don’t think you even remember why you attacked me in the first place.
You are exceedingly lucky my day was full today. Morgana was far too kind to you. Prior to that post, I would have said it was you who didn’t remember, but now I’m sure that a cyberstalking freak has had his PDD-addled memory sufficiently jogged.
I will defend myself as long as you keep attacking.
And I’ll wait two weeks for a link to a YouTube video to show up to tell me you’re even the tiniest bit serious about making me go away.
Tick, tock, chomp.