Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!


“Waaaah!  Waaaaah!  Look what a poor victim I am!  Look how meeeeeeaaan to me they are!  Waaaaaah!  Waaaaaahh!




Wait…what?  I thought he already doxed Grace, our San Fancisco hair stylist/fugitive Louisiana midwife or something.  It had to be true because he’s never faildoxed anybody. Just ask John Smith, who sent him a Tub’o’Turds:


But seriously, back to last night.

5 minutes after whining about mean people:



Sure she did.  Still waiting on a cause of death on a notarized death certificate…but we can always speculate…

But never mind that now.  We need to finish with last night’s epic hypocrisy.


What’s the matter, I wonder?  Does DUMBFUCK NOT LIKE THE TASTE OF HIS OWN CEREAL?


I hope that DUMBFUCK remembers during his regular morning F5 RAGEFEST…

…that he’s all het up over…a little ole nobody! 


Say There, DUMBFUCK!

 While John Hoge is off at Field Day 2015 pursuing his hobby, I wonder what DUMBFUCK thinks about when he takes a break from marveling at how obsessed HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! is with him.

…wait, what?

Gail who? Oh, you mean the Dog Whisperer?  Haven’t seen her in a week or so…why do you ask?


Everything Is DABDA!

Into every life (and I do mean EVERY LIFE), tragedy strikes. Sometimes it’s temporary, sometimes it’s permanent, sometimes it is something that is perceived as a tragedy but turns out to be a blessing. When people go through these tragedies, whether permanent or temporal, they experience a normal process of what has commonly come to be known as the Five Stages of Loss and Grief. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross laid out the general pattern in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying.”

  1. Denial and Isolation – deny the reality of the situation, block things out and hide from the facts
  2. Anger – intense emotion deflected, redirected and expressed in an outward manner
  3. Bargaining – reaction to feelings of helplessness and loss of control
  4. Depression – sadness and regret
  5. Acceptance – where we make our peace with what has occurred, find grace and move on to hope

While it is true that many people cycle through these emotions in the fashion Kubler-Ross lays out, it is also equally true that others do not. Some may skip certain phases, spend more time on one than another, and some even exiting the grieving cycle altogether in an abrupt manner, seeming to go about their life’s work in much the same way as they did before the event that caused them to enter the Five Stages. Others vacillate wildly from one to another and then back again, with no coherency, rhyme or reason.

It’s all a matter of our own personal makeup that determines how we proceed through these stages in my opinion, armchair zombie psychologist that I am.

Now, our good frenemy Bill Schmalfeldt has asked us to talk to Paul Krendler and/or Patrick Grady about the stages of grief someone goes through when they lose their spouse.

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Somehow, I don’t think that Krendler needs talking to. You see, zombie. Ergo, humanity is out the window. Go figure.

Now, I ALSO don’t think Mr. Grady needs to be talked to about these stages of grief. You see, they are the EXACT SAME stages of grief one goes through when you receive the news that your unborn child is going to come into this world disabled. In fact, Billy has a tendency to harp upon a comment Mr. Grady made whilst apparently consumed in Step Number 2 – Anger. While I don’t have the actual comment in front of me, it said something to the effect that Mr. Grady felt that his disabled child was a burden. Billy has taken this comment and extrapolated it out to be, as he perceives it, Mr. Grady’s entire and only view of his child. To Billy, there is no possible way that Mr. Grady could have moved on in the cycle of grief, that he remains stuck there to this very day. And he thinks that Mr. Grady should be reviled for this failure to move on.

Now, I would be remiss in my duties as armchair zombie psychologist if I didn’t point out that this is yet another example of DUMBFUCK’s propensity to project that which is his state of mind onto someone else. He does that a lot, you know.

For instance, if I were to apply Billy’s logic to his public statements regarding his own offspring, I might be persuaded to believe that his daughter is naught but a fountain of “twat slime.” But I’m not an idiot, so…bet she’s not.

I submit that while in the initial hours after his “beloved’s” death, an ordinary, reasonable observer might conclude that Billy appeared to have skipped straight to the end of the Kubler-Ross progression. And you would be right. It APPEARED so. Exhibit A is this tweet from less than 24 hours after she had died.

As a result, one of our fellow zombie travelers has proposed that there is a SIXTH stage to the Kubler-Ross cycle. Rebranding (hat tip NealNBob). And I must say, it is quite the doozy of a stage. Thank God I’ve never gone there myself, nor has anyone else that I know. Until now, that is.

However, now that Bill has had a chance to come back to reality, he has also come back to the state in which he permanently resides: Step number 2 – Anger. As evidence of this psychological disturbance, please read this quotation from his podcast on June 24, 2015.

Well, Gail’s gone. She died a week ago today. She ain’t coming back. So why in God’s name would I want to take time away from more positive pursuits to spend an entire morning at the Howard County Circuit Court to entertain Hoge’s fantasy? I have absolutely nothing to gain by attending. But I also have nothing to lose. I wanna see the look on Hoge’s face as I dissemble [sic] his argument for a peace order bit by bit. I want to show the judge what a liar he is. I want to show the judge the harm Hoge is capable of inflicting by encouraging his readers to attack a man while his wife is dying. I want to take all of this evidence, roll it up into a tight little cylinder and make WJJ Hoge III eat it an inch at a time.

Will I be at the courthouse tomorrow? If I wake up alive tomorrow morning, I will be there. And I will have the time of my life taking out all this grief and anger accumulated over the past week and pour it onto the main source of that grief and anger. The poisonous spider, the crawling vermin who calls himself WJJ Hoge. On tomorrow’s podcast I’ll tell you what happened.

While we are merely reading these words on the screen, hearing them come from the mouth of Billy in real time submerged them to a depth of malevolence that makes these mere words seem like something coming from a mentally-unhinged person. I know that *I* would want a peace order from someone saying these sorts of things in that tone about me.  And might I add that the level of projection here was simply off the charts. This should be studied.  In a tightly controlled, physically secured laboratory setting.  With dissections.  And brain snacks. Because, doctoral dissertation! Just sayin.

UMADBRO is the only emotion that Billy seems able to relate to. It is his happy place, the one that he returns to, again and again like a dog to its vomit. So he is home, now, in the second stage of grief, focusing it outward, and its laser-like focus is, at the moment, on WJJ Hoge.

Billy claims to want to be left alone to do his grieving. Because he is experiencing the worst ever grief for losing his soulmate. But the problem is that other people exist. And that sociopath’s inconvenience is anathema to Billy. Some day he will have to resolve that conflict within him. He will have to stop lashing out at others for the mere fact that they have what he wants to have, that they do what he wants to do, that they are what he wants to be.

But not today. And most likely not tomorrow. Because he has a spleen to vent. And someone must pay. Little does he know that it is always him. Such a shame.


Good Afternoon, DUMBFUCK!

Sorry, but this fat pitch was just floating up there, begging to be crushed…

6-24-2015 3-58-51 PM


Well, methinks that anyone who willfully misunderstands the Shakespearean creativity of being insulted as a “syphilitic catchfart” probably should be whacked in the forehead with an axe handle anytime he uses the word “methinks.”


Hush your piehole and take the dogs out.  Hate for them to interrupt another podcast.  I’ve heard that can lead to sudden anal cancer in canines.


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

Just your friendly neighborhood zombie here, to remind you that your beloved wasn’t cold yet before you were raging yet again at HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! in a podcast because YOU failed to include the proper forms in your request for a continuance.


Also to remind you that it was just three days after saying

that you were back to the butt stuff:

And then…”Don’t make me angry.  You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”



Because you never were going to do it. You know it. I know it. The American people know it!



Good Morning Again, DUMBFUCK!

 I guess we know now why you were always the one left standing in a bar fight. Did your palsie-walsies jump right in and take care of your business while you and your urine-soaked panties hid behind the jukebox?

Last man standing…until after closing time when you had to repay those favors out in the parking lot? 


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

Threatened by whom?

A poor, poor, pitiful late stage ELEVENTYFOUR Parkinson’s patient who can’t walk unassisted or go outside when the temperatures dip into the brisk forties, who couldn’t possibly hurt anyone as weak as it is, unless it’s using its magic hand to cripple people it can’t catch as it shuffles along into courtrooms in its rolly-walker at the blistering pace of 10 feet per minute, who could catch a turtle that wasn’t chained down?
What’s a DUMBFUCK gonna do?

Send its sister after me?  

Ain’t it ruff.  Ain’t it tuff.  Ain’t it got the baddest stuff?

Before it calls her out, it should be sure to remind her that my personal two-tiered home security system, which is controlled from a locked box in the bedroom and another in the hall closet, is entirely gender neutral.

And girl braaaaaaaaaaains are tasty.


What Difference, At This Point, Does it Make?

I’ve been hearing for years now how a certain Texas “grifter,” “conman,” “liar” and “pimp” (“but at least I never called his wife a whore!”) told THREE DIFFERENT STORIES about the stillbirth of his daughter, and how a certain DUMBFUCK’S harassment of him was turned into TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS IN FRAUDULENT FUNDRAISING!!


Three different stories…wow.

That’s, like, a lot.

  1. Scleroderma
  2. Heart failure
  3. Kidney failure
  4. Ovarian cancer
  5. General organ failure
  6. Stage IV stage fright or something
  7. Insertdiseasehereitis 

Dear God, I wonder what it will be tomorrow?

  1. Goose down asphyxiation 
  2. Dehydration
  3. The heartbreak of psoriasis 
  4. Lactose intolerance
  5. Terminal hemorrhoid
  6. Athlete’s foot
  7. Flesh eating bacteria
  8. e. Coli

Right now, I think if I were enumerating a list of differences between a certain DUMBFUCK’S description of the aforementioned Texan and said DUMBFUCK himself, I would say that the separation is illustrated by TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS IN FRAUDULENT FUNDRAISING.

…which really just highlights the notion that the DUMBFUCK understands just how unbelievable his lies truly are.

But I’m just a skanky meth-head with dyed hair (And doesn’t that sound just like his description of one of his hapless ex-wives? Gosh someone is such a misogynist at heart. Shame Shame!) who really, really thinks she’s a zombie according to some DUMBFUCK. So weight things accordingly.