I got an anonymous email last Friday. The sending address was email@example.com. A lot of people would look at that sending email address and think “I know exactly who sent that!”
Not me. I figure that it could be any of the thousands of employees of the Vast WMS-DB Multimedia Empire.
There’s no way to tell who it was.
In the email headers, there’s a very familiar IP address: 22.214.171.124. I looked that address up at iplocation.net, and it shows me Cudahy, Oak Creek, Milwaukee…all locations very near to St. Francis, where a very frequent (perhaps the MOST frequent) visitor to this blog has set up his new Mangina Cave. A lot of people would conclude “Oh, I know exactly who it was.”
Not me. I can’t trace that address down to more than a few square miles, based on the information I have.
Still not proof.
But then there’s the subject line:
Nice to see Ms. Ikihega’s scolding had an effect
Well, there’s a name I think we’ve all seen in recent days. Some DUMBFUCK claims to have had a nice long talk with her. And based on that subject line, the author of this unsigned email believes some kind of secondary conversation took place between Ms. Ikihega and me.
I’m here to tell you that it just isn’t so.
Here’s the rest of that email (with commentary):
So, here we are. You maintained silence for two days
Not even close.
after having your ass ripped for using your telecommuting time and Capegemini equipment to post your hate screeds.
Good. It shows you are capable of learning.
Which puts me several steps ahead of the anonymous pussy who sent this email.
Here’s what else you need to learn.
Every bit of filth sent to my comment box from an anonymous source will be treated, on information and belief, as if it came from you.
That’s nice. Savoir Faire ees everywhere!!
That 8chan kiddie porn gateway site, for instance. Call the St. Francis cops and ask for Detective Jeremy Harcus.
Why? Does he do funny voices over the phone?
I am not finished with you.
I wasn’t aware that you had started.
The simple fact that you have let your hatred for me blossom into a full-fledged obsession may result in your getting some specialized treatment, but it will not spare you or your family from the financial burden that I am about to impose on you.
This is only forty-five words of complete nonsense. If this is who I think but can’t prove it is, you are capable of much, much more unfocused stupidity and nonsense, and you really need to step up your game.
Two years of nearly daily harassment and stalking by you.
And the fact that you continue your website merely shows you are incapable of stopping.
Well, sir? I am going to make you stop. And I am going to make you pay.
Wow. Never heard that one before. Do I know you?
This is not a warning, this is not a negotiation. Your website could disappear today, like you tried to make the FUPP blog disappear.
This is a declaration.
Wouldn’t “Blahblahblahblahblah” have been easier to type and more accurate?
Every lie, every misrepresentation, every stolen image, every profane thing you’ve written about the best woman God ever put on the planet.
I’ll have you know that I have never written a lie, never made a misrepresentation, never stolen an image and never written one profane thing about the bet woman God ever put on the planet. I will admit that we are probably referring to two different people, and that you are wrong.
The fact that you did not reveal to the court that you were writing a daily hate blog about me as you whimpered and whined about the danger I imposed.
Aside from the fact that you seem to have me confused with someone else, and you also have a very loose definition of the word “fact,” is the lack of a verb in this sentence fragment intentional?
Every bit of it.
I look forward to laughing at it.
It will take a bit of writing.
You’re going to farm that out to a real writer, I hope. I’ll do it for $50,000.00.
Hang on to your ass.
Why? Are you gonna send Bill Schmalfeldt after me? In that case, yikes.
Note that there was no signature on the email from the weeping, nutshuffling penis who sent it along…
So that’s the entertainment portion of the post. Now for the educational part.
This email, from someone who certainly seems bound and determined to GET ME ONCE AND FOR ALL!!! (if it wasn’t for you nosy kids!) was sent at 9:34:08 PDT according to the email headers. That’s another clue for you young Sherlocks out there – how many computers do you know of located in the Cudahy-Oak Creek-Milwaukee area that are set to Pacific time?
Anyway, that 9:34:08 Pacific is UTC – 8 hours, or 17:34:08 UTC.
Later that same day, at 13:21 Eastern time, I left this comment at Hogewash.
13:21 Eastern is UTC – 5 hours, or 18:21 UTC.
Someone who might have authored the email above – but there’s no proof, remember – sent out a tweet highlighting a post he had just published. That post crowed about someone (apparently me, because it was my comment that was highlighted) commenting from work, ZOMFG!!1!!ELEVENTY11!!1!! The time on that tweet was 12:45 PM Central.
12:45 Central is UTC – 6 hours, or 18:45 UTC.
And then, just three hours later, at 3:44 PM Central, or 20:44 UTC, the same person – who may or may not have sent me this cowardly sandy-vagina email message – tweeted another link, to another post at the same blog. It reads, in part:
Now that I have determined beyond all reasonable doubt that the filth merchant calling itself Paul Krendler is, as I thought, Patrick Grady…
Three errors in one sentence, and here’s your gimme: has anyone ever bought filth from me?
I don’t want him anymore.
Well, SOMEONE CERTAINLY DOES, if you consider as an indicator the email that was sent at 17:34:08 UTC, just a bit more than three hours prior. But I just don’t know who sent it, dammit! If only I could be absolutely sure who it was, emailing me from that familiar IP address near St. Francis, Wisconsin, with an email address of firstname.lastname@example.org, a website registered to Bill Schmalfeldt.
Aargh! So frustrating!
I have no idea why I feel this way. A week ago, I would have been happy to dash his head in with a rock.
Gee, that doesn’t sound anything like a DEATH THREAT, does it? Against a person protected from you by a Stalking No Contact Order?
So, we’ll wait on the glacier known as the US District Court for the Eastern District of Wisconsin to move.
“WE?” Who is “WE?” YOU GOT A HAMSTER UP YOUR ASS, DUMBFUCK?
Say what you want. The only thing that matters to me is how I feel about myself and whether or not Gail would be proud of me. I know she wouldn’t want me to live from court date to court date.
Time to retool, FOCUS! on making myself as close to happy as I can ever hope to be, and move on.
Good. It shows you might be capable of learning. I remain unconvinced. I’ve seen this carousel spin around before, and I have a good idea what comes next.
But here’s what I wonder:
At 17:34:08 UTC, email@example.com sent me an email pledging, in so many words, I’LL GET YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I EVER DO!
Less than an hour later, I posted a comment at Hogewash!
24 minutes after that (which is obsession-level response time) a post about my comment appeared, with a tweet to highlight it. Contained in that post was a mention of someone who doesn’t work with me, doesn’t know me, has never met me. It was an implied threat directed at a third party who is, again for emphasis, protected from this DUMBFUCK by a Stalking No Contact Order in Illinois.
Three hours after that, this DUMBFUCK (sigh!) just doesn’t care anymore. (sigh…)
- What happened in those three hours?
- Did DUMBFUCK make a phone call?
- Did someone Google DUMBFUCK by name?
- Did DUMBFUCK find out that Capgemini knows who he is?
- Did DUMBFUCK find out that Capgemini pushes back against deranged cyberstalkers instead of enabling them?
- Did DUMBFUCK find out what could happen to him if HE did not curtain (curtain? Really? Curtain? Proofread, you DUMBFUCK SOB, could you please, for the love of God?) HIS activities?
I believe that, very much like his close encounter with David Edgren, the very real prospect of very real consequences left a hot puddle of fear pee under his computer again. Only this time, he’s got nowhere to run.