Author: Paul Krendler

The Thinking Man's Zombie

Hmm…This One’s a Toughie!

Do you mean like maliciously calling a guy a convicted child rapist when you know for a fact that the guy is not a child rapist?

YES.

And good luck with that, by the way.  The price of popcorn futures is in the stratosphere today.

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And What Have We Here?

A freshly active Team Free Speech Blog!  Right here at sonoranconservative.com!

Seven new posts just in the last three days, all dedicated to pointage, laughery and mockification of Moobflop McBeetusflesh!

I wonder what could have happened so recently to motivate the rapid creation of YET ANOTHER website dedicated to pointing out the MASSIVE LIFE FAILURES of Homo Simpson?

Surely it couldn’t have been in response to the DUMBFUCKERY of a DUMBFUCK!

Remember, people!  Don’t fuck with Moobflop McBeetusflesh or anyone he pre 10 ds to love while telling them he’s like to bend another man over a chair and rape them!  You’ll only wind up in his crosshairs, just like me – laughing at him every single day for the rest of his life.

 

 

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Whatever Happened to Baby What’s-Her-Name?

He walked in the door with the cardboard box of office supplies that she knew had been moldering in the trunk of his Chevy for the last month.

The potted plant was dead.

“Alice, I’m leaving you,” said Bill.

She sighed.

Thank you, Lord, for dimwitted husbands and answered prayers.

While it wasn’t the answer she had prayed for, she wouldn’t have to deal with funeral expenses now.  It would have to be enough.

She had grownup Catholic and even though she no longer called the Church her home, the notion of divorce as a grievous sin had been layered on her since childhood. It would have taken years for her to gather the wherewithal to ask for it on her own. Her husband had taken the task from her hands, and she was grateful. Still, appearances must be kept up.

“Bill! First of all, my name is not Alice. Second…why?”

Bill shrugged and opened the freezer, stuck his head inside. He said, “I got a job at a radio station in Sluggard, South Dakota. It’s a good gig. Morning host and program director. Betty, I have to take it.”

“That’s not my name either,” she said. “But what about your show here?”

He pulled his head out of the freezer. In his hand he held a fresh half gallon of butter pecan ice cream.

He said “I was, I mean, I, uh, resigned this morning, effective immediately.”

Obviously he didn’t know that she listened to his show and knew he had been fired weeks ago. She had never brought it up because frankly, she didn’t care. Fifteen minutes of unhinged political ranting didn’t really play well in rural radio markets, no matter which side of the spectrum you fell on. Bill hadn’t even been allowed to finish his shift. She guessed he had been warned prior to the axe falling on him.

Bill had pulled large serving spoon from the silver drawer and was digging into the ice cream with gusto.

“Okay,” she said. “Why don’t you want me to come with you?”

He paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth.  The scoop of ice cream was the size of a baby’s head, but that didn’t appear to faze Bill in the slightest.

“Because you’d hate it. The people there are so stupid, I’ll be the smartest person in town –“

She coughed, loudly.

“What? Are you making fun of me, Carol?”

Her eyes watered. “Me? Never. And my name isn’t Carol.”

Bill said “Whatever. You’d be second smartest, except maybe for the guy who hired me. I mean, he’s an idiot compared to me, but he knows talent when he sees it. He loved my scouting skit.”

He licked melting ice cream from the bottom of the spoon, then wedged it between his lips. She watched, transfixed, as nearly a pint of frozen dairy disappeared into his piehole.

He tried to continue, but couldn’t form words around the frozen dairy now clogging his gullet. Then, the brain freeze hit.

Ah, Jesus God!!

Bill tried to put the ice cream carton on the table, but missed. It tipped onto the floor, spilling the sticky slop across the linoleum.  She watched him hold up the spoon like a crossing guard with a stop sign. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. He worked his jaw like a boa constrictor eating a pig, forcing the lump of cold dairy past his tonsils.  She wanted to vomit.

He continued speaking as if nothing had happened. “My point is, Dawn, you’d be bored to tears there. It’s a really small town, everyone there is a dimwit. It’s just like the town I grew up in before my father uprooted us for no reason whatsoever,” Bill said.

She said “My name isn’t Dawn. What about the kids? Don’t you think they need a father?”

“What kids? Erin, are you sure you’re feeling all right? I don’t have any kids.”

Technically, he’s not wrong, she thought.

“You don’t even remember my name, do you?” she said.

“Of course I remember your name, Freida.”

She wanted to punch him in the face.

“So you’re leaving me with the kids?” she said.

Bill said, “They’re your kids. Do you really want them growing up to be like me?”

It was an excellent point. “Well, if they ever needed a BAD example, I can’t think of a better choice.”

“That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” he said.

“I don’t doubt it,” she said. “You’ve met another woman, haven’t you?”

Bill said, “Not yet, I mean NO!”

“So when are you leaving?”

“As soon as I’m packed. I’m taking the car.”

She didn’t care. For obvious reasons it needed new shocks and struts, plus an alignment. Every time she drove it after him, it pulled even more to the left. Both driver’s side tires were bald as well. He’d be lucky to get out of California without blowing them both rubbing a curb. He really was a horrible driver.

He could have the thing. It wouldn’t be a problem. One of the several men the soon-to-be-smartest-man-in-Sluggard-South-Dakota knew nothing about was a car salesman named Glenn. In two weeks, she would be tooling around town in a new Buick convertible, or Glenn’s three year old daughter would get to meet her new mommy.

“Anything else?”

“Just the laptop,” he said.

“Laptop? What’s a laptop?” she said.

“Jesus, Gail! You’re such a retard. The computer!”

“My name…is not…GAIL! The computer is as big as the desk. This is 1979, you imbecile! Maybe someday it will fit on your lap, if you keep eating like you do. And maybe someday they’ll make a computer that will fit in the palm of your hand, too! Take the freaking computer! All you ever do is write fake newspaper articles on it anyway.”

Bill shouted, “Hey! I’ll have you know the Petaluma Tribune published three of my letters to the editor last year!”

“I remember! You celebrated once with a cheap bottle of Early Times and wound up dropping one of the children on his head.”

“Now Harriet, that was an accident, you know that!”

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and get out, you drunken reprobate! And just for the record – my name in MARILYNN! The same as your mother! Three years we’ve been married and you never remembered that! You must be demented, which is saying something for a 25 year old scobblelotcher like you! Get out, I said!”

“Ingrid, What’s a scobblelotcher?”

“Go pack your shit! If you’re not in the driveway in ten minutes, I’m going to start tossing clothes out the door.”

Needless to say, Bill vanished from Marilynn’s life, found his next wife in his brother’s bed and stole her away.

No divorce was ever filed, and if this story was not entirely a work of fiction, Bill would be a divorced, widowed bigamist living in a hotel with a balloon.

Thank God it’s not even close to being true.

Just hysterically funny.

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Yes, Marvin…

…take this shit seriously.

This is not a game, and if you aren’t careful, perhaps three and a half years from now you will suffer the wrath of Preston-Schmalfeldt (*snerk*) just as deeply as I have.

And let me tell you, having this much fun laughing at idiots every single day can be exhausting.

But someone has to.

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Denials Require Proof, You Say?

Well, it’s a well known fact that Bill Schmalfeldt once alleged in a federal lawsuit that his cousin Roy Schmalfeldt defamed him by accusing him of rape.  Bill Schmalfeldt also dismissed that lawsuit with prejudice, which leaves him legally unable to deny that he is, in fact, a rapist.

If what Bill Schmalfeldt says today – “DENIALS REQUIRE PROOF!” – what other things has he done that he cannot provide proof that he never did?

  • Did he in fact get kicked to the curb by St. Gail after befouling his marriage bed with Hell’s Kitchen Kate?
  • Did he in fact live the remainder of his marriage with St. Gail in separate beds because her condition for allowing him into the tincasa was the permanent withholding of spousal privileges?
  • Did he in fact scam the National Institutes of Health into a pensioned disability retirement?
  • Did he in fact ever have a job in journalism or radio from which he was not fired?
  • Was he in fact evicted from the enclave of the NINJANUNS?
  • Did he in fact violate his lease in Iowa to escape to his new Inflatababe?
  • Did he in fact fail to inform the states of Wisconsin, Iowa and possibly South Carolina of his disability, thus fraudulently acquiring driver’s licenses in one or more of those states?
  • Did he in fact administer multiple pairs of Irish Sunglasses to his soulmate throughout their marriage?
  • Was she in fact too quick for him to catch?
  • Did he in fact abandon four pets in two states to the streets?
  • Were those pets in fact served as entrees in various Asian restaurants?
  • Did he in fact leave the urn behind in Iowa?
  • Did he in fact murder his first wife and chop her body into stew meat?
  • Does he in fact no longer take any medications for Parkinson’s?’

As the GREASE-SWEATING BEETUSBUCKET DUMBFUCK says, 

DENIALS REQUIRE PROOF!

Based on the Rules of Schmalfeldt, simply because I say so, all these things are true. The only way to disprove them is for DUMBFUCK – in true Alinsky style – to live up to his own rule book and provide sufficient proof to the negative.

And naturally I am the judge of sufficiency.

I’ll wait.

But only until 9 PM Eastern.

And you know, if anyone thinks of anything else he needs to provide denials for, leave a comment.

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FAILDOX – A How-To Guide

When you commence to faildox someone, it’s always best to start with an assumption that can’t be proved.  A couple examples:

  • A commenter identifying himself by two letters must be using HIS OWN INITIALS, and not someone else’s.
  • A commenter identifying himself by two letters must be using his FIRST and LAST initials, and ONLY IN THAT ORDER. He cannot use a FIRST and MIDDLE initial, or a MIDDLE and LAST initial, and certainly not in reverse order.  That’s just simply against the rules.
  • Sonoran Conservative can only mean he’s from Sonora, California, and not
    • Sonora, Ohio
    • Sonora, North Dakota
    • Sonora, New York
    • Sonora, Missouri
    • Sonora Mississippi
    • Sonora, Kentucky
    • Sonora, Arkansas,
    • Sonora, Arizona
    • Sonora Texas
    • Sonora, Canada
    • Or any of the 5 Sonoras scattered across Mexico.
  • “I started high school at the end of the Carter administration” can only mean 1980. It surely can’t be 1979.
  • Even if 1980 is correct, it absolutely MUST follow that a student starting in 1980 CAN ONLY graduate in 1984. No high school student has ever been held back a year. Nor has any high school student ever been sick or injured and failed to graduate with his class. And even though I know several people from my college who whizzed through high school in just three years, that couldn’t possibly be the case here. Oh, and if I remember correctly, there were still three-year high schools that started with 10th grade in various parts of the country back in 1980. But none of these things could have happened.  That would require due diligence that hotshot investigative reporters just don’t have time for.
  • Here’s another fun thought…was Sonora Union High School the ONLY high school serving that community in 1980? What were the residency boundaries?  If an “MJ” did live in the Sonoma, CA area (again, a very large and unproven assumption), how does one prove that he or she was the only such “MJ” who did, much less prove that – even if there was only one – this person didn’t attend another nearby high school?

By the way, YOU LARDASS, BEETUSJUICE-DRIPPING DUMBFUCK – when you redact information from a document…REDACT IT EVERYWHERE.  Coulter. You are responsible for me knowing that.

Now, I have no doubt that there is a Michael David Jackson who pled guilty in Pierce County, Washington, to raping his stepdaughters.  The evidence is clear and compelling.  Nearly as compelling as the evidence that Brett Kimberlin is the Speedway Bomber, and that he slept with his wife when she was underage.

I also have no doubt that the commenter MJ is Sonoran Conservative.  Not only have I proven it for myself, Sonoran Conservative has admitted that he comments under both handles.

Here’s what’s missing:

Even one scintilla of proof that Michael David Jackson has ever commented on Hogewash!, Thinking Man’s Zombie or BillySez. 

To make that connection, you ASSUMED, COMPLETELY WITHOUT PROOF, that Sonoran Conservative was from Sonora California, rather than Arizona, Arkansas, Kentucky, Mississippi, Missouri, New York, North Dakota, Ohio, Canada or any of five towns in Mexico.

Then you doubled that error by further ASSUMING, COMPLETELY WITHOUT PROOF, that Sonoran Conservative attended Sonora Union High School.

Then, you trebled that error by further ASSUMING, COMPLETELY WITHOUT PROOF, that Sonoran Conservative started at this school in 1980.

Then, you quadrupled that error by further ASSUMING, COMPLETELY WITHOUT PROOF, that Sonoran Conservative graduated from high school in 1984.

Then, you quintupled that error by further ASSUMING, COMPLETELY WITHOUT PROOF, that Sonoran Conservative aka MJ actually has a first name that starts with M and a last name that starts with J.

To summarize…

You can say that Sonoran Conservative = MJ
And you can say that David Michael Jackson = Child Rapist

But your conclusion that MJ = David Michael Jackson springs not from facts but from at least five separate proof-deficient assumptions.

  1. You can’t prove that Sonoran Conservative was ever from Sonora, California…you can only shout it.
  2. You can’t prove that Sonoran Conservative ever attended Sonora Union High School…you can only shout it.
  3. You can’t prove that Sonoran Conservative started high school ANYWHERE in 1980…you can only shout it.
  4. You can’t prove that Sonoran Conservative graduated high school ANYWHERE in 1984…you can only shout it.
  5. You can’t prove that Sonoran Conservative has a first name that starts with M and a last name that starts with J…you can only shout it.

Every fact that follows from those assumptions pertains to Michael David Jackson.  Not a single fact connects him to Sonoran Conservative. In legal parlance, the connections you have drawn from these false assumptions – and they are false – are “Fruit of the poisoned tree.”

Also – and you’re gonna love this – it’s defamation per se! You know…”Falsely accusing someone of a crime?” Yeah, you did that.

And the consequences of that failure will be GLORIOUS to see.

  • Blogs will vanish
  • Tweets will vanish
  • Accounts will go private, then be deleted and REBRANDED!!!
  • Tears will fall from sad cheeks
  • Butts will hurt

DOX?

FAIL.

P.S. Con Man 101 – when your mark wants to be told a particular lie (“my fax machine just rang!”), TELL HIM THAT LIE.

P.P.S.

And in case you wondered, EVERYTHING is already archived, so it’s a waste of time to memory-hole your defamation.

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Yes, @sonoranconserv, Follow For a DM

So you can roll over on everybody!

Just like gmhowell did.

DANCE, MONKEY! DANCE FOR ME!! DAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!

UPDATE:

DOOOOOOOOM CLOOOOOOOOOCK!!!

The Doom Clock widget on the sidebar has been updated.

UPDATE 2: DUMBFUCK gotta DUMBFUCK!!

MOAR FAIL!!

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