And, As Usual

…your opinion isn’t worth the toilet paper it’s smeared on.

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A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

DUMBFUCK Bill Schmalfeldt, disease faker, multiply adjudicated harasser and stalker, vexatious litigant, serial doxxer of complete strangers, Great White Butthurt Hunter and lying, sexist, racist, bigoted, anti-Semitic motherfucker, pontificates on the instinct for self-preservation…

I suppose if we consider “FLEEING ACROSS THE COUNTRY LIKE A COWARD MULTIPLE TIMES TO ESCAPE THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS BAD ACTS” an instinct for self-preservation, he might be considered an expert.

Unfortunately, he lacks the good sense to STAY UNDER THE FUCKING PORCH.

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Daddy Hoge Wants Me To Ask…

What is your mailing address, DUMBFUCK?

In order to be certain that what he has to say reaches its intended destination without any ability to claim that it was unintentionally or intentionally “lost” in cyberspace or meatspace, he would prefer to communicate with you via Certified Mail, Restricted Delivery, Return Receipt Requested only.

To avoid confusion.

Be a man and answer me directly.

Where can Your Daddy Hoge find you?

Quit sucking your thumb, be a man and answer me directly.

And before you deflect, and ask me what MY address is, just keep in mind that I am merely a neutral go-between in this little conflict…an interested observer, shall we say?

And besides, you seem to believe with all your heart that you already know my address. Actions speak louder than words, so step right up and prove it, O Talker of Big Game From Under The Porch.

Stop idly fondling your empty nutsack, be a man and answer me directly.

I’ll even give you a DOOM CLOCK like you gave Sonoran Conservative. Since we all know already that you’re a racist, sexist, bigoted, anti-Semitic, terrorist-sympathizing, hateful, lying weeping pussy faker, I’ll give you until Close of Business YESTERDAY to prove otherwise.

Oops.

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You Know What’s Funny?

From last night’s Feldtdown:

The fact that he’s looking at a post that’s five months old? Sorta funny.

The fact that he still thinks I’m Patrick Grady? Definitely funny.

But the truly, gut-bustingly hilarious thing?

In his own Tweet, he curbstomps himself.

This could only be true, because if it was fake no one would believe it.

Thanks, DUMBFUCK!

 

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Good Afternoon, DUMBFUCK!

How is it that a DUMBFUCK like yourself, who just ten short days ago was on his way to North Dakota…

…suddenly swerved into Iowa and instantly became an overbearing, pretentious, crude, anti-Semitic, woman-hating, poop-loving, Cub Scout obsessed, lying, racist expert on Iowa politics without even having established residency?

Of course, you’re an expert in EVERYTHING, judging by the way you were already spouting on #returntonodak politics before you even left the Inflat-a-skank behind forever in South Carolina, having failed to separate her from family the way you did Captive Nurse 1.0.

Say, how bad did you screw over that North Dakota newspaper anyway, you fickle, worthless sack of pig vomit?

Dunning-Kruger is a helluva drug!

Looking forward to the day in May when KDSN wishes you into the radio cornfield…though I’m sure the papers will be served before that happens.

KDSN Radio
1530 Ridge Road
Denison, Iowa 51442
Phone: 712.263.3141
Fax: 712.263.2088
Office Hours:
Monday – Friday 8:00 AM – 5:00 PM
Saturday 8:00 AM – 12:00 Noon

 

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“I’m Just Not As Into Him As He Is With Me-Me-MEEEEEEEEE!!”

Also, check out my Twitter Feldtdown whinging about this person who doesn’t matter to me SO MUCH that I read his blog every fucking day.

 

 

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Has It Been TWO YEARS Already?

Good grief.

“Vain obsession?”

Says the pot with THIRTEEN RESTRAINING ORDERS!

How quickly he forgets that I never delete ANYTHING.

He had his chances. For nearly two years all he needed to do was walk away, and I would have disappeared. But he couldn’t do it, the racist, woman-hating, disability faking coward. Even at the moment of his “soulmate”‘s passing, he was checking email and moderating comments in the next room.

So I finally accepted that he would never walk away.

Oh, the self-awareness makes me dizzy!

Two (or four, or six) can play that game, though. And by his rules, continue to kick his ass.

But never let it be said that I was unwilling to give a sporting chance!

A shade over two years ago, I made one final offer.  I told him if he could eat a Carolina Reaper* (a mere 1.89 million Scoville units) and post the full video by February 15, 2016, I would delete this blog ON THE SAME DAY. I knew he would never do it.

No video was posted, and The Thinking Man’s Zombie endures.

And now he is out of options. Even a coyote will sacrifice a limb to get out of a trap, but Bill’s just a monkey with his hand stuck in a jar.

He lacks the smarts to solve this problem, and he compounds it by thinking he’s earned the treat in the jar just by knowing it’s there.

If you want to know why Paul Krendler continues, the answer is simple:

Murum aries attigit.


*Isn’t the name of that pepper doubly ironic now that he has relocated to South Carolina for a new fiancé, I mean sweetie, whoops, that should probably read Captive Nurse 2.0 by now, after causing (in my opinion) his soulmate’s death by failing to mobilize the vaunted resources of his massive Rolodex of contacts at the National Institutes for Health?

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The Answer to Your Burning Strawman, DUMBFUCK…

is “YES.”

And you’re too fucking stupid to know why. (Don’t forget, truth is an absolute defense against a defamation claim. So, as it turns out, is lack of personal jurisdiction.)

#virtuesignaling #DUMBFUCK #punchingup

P.S. It’s worth noting that by the same logic, Gail Schmalfeldt would be a lot LESS dead if her soulmate hadn’t spent so much time chasing white whales on the internet…

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Back In the Game, Using His Own Name?

Before all else, I want to tip my hat to Sonoran Conservative for his excellent commentary on the Bill Schmalfeldt rant below.  If you haven’t already checked it out, I recommend you do so.

I have a somewhat different take, which I was unable to address yesterday thanks to real world commitments.

After the complete rant, read on:

Yes, Aaron. I was “misdiagnosed” by an expert on the subject 18 years ago today. In that time I learned how to fake misfiring neurons in my brain to FOOL doctors who were doing my deep brain stimulation. But the Hogewash Neurology Council says I’m faking it. How can one argue?

A man who cleans the dogshit from his wife’s kennels is also an expert on progressive neurological disorders? Imagine my surprise. Now scoop up that shit, Doggy Style before your wife gets sore!

Seems to me that if anyone seriously believes I am faking my diagnosis, they owe it to the taxpayers to contact the Office of Personnel Management and DEMAND that they review my case. Contact Social Security, too. Be ready to identify yourself and provide proof. Cowards. #DARE!

I’m sure that the professionals at OPM and Social Security will be more than happy to take the word of anonymous cowards and a shit-encrusted kennel cleaner over the evidence obtained from actual medical professionals. Trump-sucking morons!

Now, before Hoggy’s soft-skulled amen choir goes running to the OPM and Social Security to disclose the “fraud” they say I am perpetrating on the government, a word of advice. They won’t listen to anonymous people. And providing false info to a federal agency is a felony. Ready?

I mean, if you are SURE I am “faking” my 18-year struggle with Parkinson’s, how can you call yourself a PATRIOT if you let me get away with it? You OWE it to AMERICA to turn me in. Step up, state your name, provide your proof. Unless you are afraid. You aren’t AFRAID, are you?

My God, such a rich lode of Slovenian horse crap! Where do I begin?

Continue reading “Back In the Game, Using His Own Name?”

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Well, You Walked Right Into That, DUMBFUCK!

I can’t figure out if he thinks this post is libelous…

…or this one from the late, unlamented BillSchmalfeldt.net.

And you’re not fooling anyone, telling people you walked away. You blew that chance years ago. Instead you dug in deeper, and ever since you’ve been caught in a trap of your own making.

There’s no escape, as long as Inflataskank continues to tell you all about the parodies of your works that magically appear.

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