Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

A little DUMBFUCKBIRD told me to expect something in the mail on Monday.

Personally, I think it means someone else. But I do have some questions:

Before it went into the envelope, was it rolled into a ball and well-sniffed? Is it properly packaged? Triple-sealed? Labeled with biohazard stickers?

Or should I just let the folks know to keep their LULZ muscles nice and loose?


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

You want to know why I’m up here in the “towering heights,” and you’re not?  It boils down to three very simple words:

Smarter. Than. You.

To answer your pathetic little question…

I want to stay up here in the towering heights and have FUN watching you dance.  


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

I was a bit worried that I would have nothing to mock this morning because DUMBFUCK was suddenly disinvited from Twitter yesterday for being a testicle-footed penis.  It seems Twitter is as incapable of learning as DUMBFUCK is. But then again, as the scorpion said to the tortoise just before they both drowned, “It’s just my nature. You knew what I was when you let me climb on your back.”


By which I mean, DUMBFUCK don’t gotta exercise a lick of common sense.

When my daughter got her cell phone, ZombieMom and I sat down and had a talk with her about sexting.  Of the several things we covered, one of the most important was this:

Sexting consequence 2

It’s embarrassing. The girl in the photo meant her picture for her boyfriend’s eyes only, but that’s not how it ended up. Once something’s on a cell phone, it can be forwarded, uploaded, downloaded, edited, and passed around the Internet and around the world. While the girl in the photo meant her picture for her boyfriend, if they break up, he’ll still have the photo and can do whatever he wants with it. Sexting consequences have included teens who have attempted suicide, and one girl recently succeeded in taking her own life because her photo was forwarded to everyone in her school. Nothing is worth that type of embarrassment. Ever.

Consider where the ultimate responsibility lies when a naughty picture escapes onto the Internet.  There was a recent scandal regarding several celebrities’ phones being hacked and nude pictures leaking into the internet. Snapchat’s business model rests on the idea that whatever a user sends is auto deleted after a few seconds from the destination device, but what is left unsaid is that all messages and images go into, and are permanently stored on, Snapchat’s  internal servers.

There are only three ways to keep potentially embarrassing photos offline:

  1. Don’t take the photo in the first place;
  2. Don’t store it on a hackable device;

Middle school girls know this. Internet investigative journomalistic DUMBFUCKS do not.

Apparently not!

In my email yesterday I found a photo.  The sending address was obviously fake, and the message was signed Mort in Maryland.

The photo wasn’t particularly graphic; certainly nothing illegal. I can tell you that I wouldn’t want to see a picture of my wife in that state circulating around the Internet like a Kim Kardashian video. Sure, she’s two weeks from dying, but it looks more like two minutes.  I think only a sadistic sociopath would want to even TAKE that picture, much less keep it. If someone over the age of 7 gave me this picture as a gift for me to cherish, I would have to question their sincerity and they would probably spend the next several weeks eating through a straw.

But anyway…now I’ve got this photo, taken in room 411B, the woman in the photo with such a frail, put-the-camera-down-you-sick-fucking-ghoul expression, the partial finger obscuring the left side of the lens…really, really sad on so many levels.  What should I do about it?

I could post it right here and now. That would be fun, watching it try to spin that “THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!!” will be hilarious. Especially since I know even more about this photo than I am saying here.

Instead, let’s do this:  as far as I know, there has been no obituary published, and every obituary needs a photo.

So, if DUMBFUCK would care to continue its madness, I may visit several regional newspapers, money orders in hand, and buy big, flowery obits in its name. And oh, the charitable organizations I could name in lieu of flowers!

On the other hand, if it stops…I won’t have any FUN.

But we already know that’s not an incentive.  Neither is the notion that it wants to keep that photo private.  It sent THE SAME PHOTO in separate emails to separate destinations.  Do you think it knew that by doing that it was robbing itself of the ability to identify which of its harassment targets passed it on to me through back channels?

I’ll bet a year’s pay it didn’t think of that, because DUMBFUCK!!!

And now it’s over a barrel.  To paraphrase DUMBFUCK, I hope it doesn’t force me into doing something unpleasant, because my options are limited.



Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

 JUNE 24, 2015 – Ruling the world of podcasting on Blog Talk Radio!


JUNE 26, 2015 – switches to LIVE365 after excessive patches of dead air cause the BlogTalkRadio software to disconnect repeatedly.  But don’t worry – this is where ALL THE BIG PODCASTERS ARE!

JUNE 30, 2015 – after all the cool podcasters learn of DUMBFUCK’s arrival at LIVE365, they all demand refunds and bolt for other platforms to avoid the stench of associating with it.  It’s street cred destroyed, DUMBFUCK hangs in at LIVE365 for two whole podcasts (actually just 23% of one if you exclude pre-recorded stupidity, stammering unpreparedness, umms, ahhs, mouth-breathing, bitching about sound quality an dead air), before it is unceremoniously welcomed into the streets once more.

So, it’s back to Speaker!

Five days, three podcasts, three platforms.  Is there a Guinness World Record for biggest failure?  Because this really needs to be checked.  (Would a trophy on the mantel for World’s Greatest Failure, right next to the last empty bottle of mouthwash from Bob Barker, count as an “accomplishment?”) But never mind that, numbskulls, I’m podcastin’.

16,863rd time’s the charm…DUMBFUCK’S got this, DUMBFUCK!  Oh, it’s gonna own that shit! LIKE A DUMBFUCK!  Einstein’s definition of insanity be damned!  Occam’s Razor, too! Just because it has failed for years running, that doesn’t make it a failure! It would still be a failure even if it had never tried at all!


Say There, DUMBFUCK!

I heard she’s naming names too!

In particular, she’s naming Bill Schmalfeldt, and following that with things like “LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, YOU PSYCHOPATHIC VEGETABLE!” 

(That may be a loose paraphrase…)

Bill Schmalfeldt harassment

But it’s pretty clear that no one is playing along with DUMBFUCK’s fantasies.

He needs to…


Good Afternoon, DUMBFUCK!

It’s rare to see a guy go 0-for-4 in a single sentence.

But if anyone could do it, DUMBFUCK is the guy twatwaffle for the job.


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.

View post on

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.