You Want It Done? You Want It Over? Simple.

Here’s a road map:

1. You surrender and slink off the field like the cowardly weasel you are;
2. I stand victorious, absorbing the accolades of the cheering throngs;
3. After a fortnight of celebration in my camps, coinciding with a fortnight of complete silence from your camp, I withdraw to the border status quo ante, to take up watch;
4. If you remain silent, you remain free, but at the first hint of a desire to renew hostilities, I rejoin the battle and once again bring all my energy and resources to bear.

Or…

We can keep going just like we are now.

I dropped my sword and walked away once, at the request of John Hoge. Remember what happened next? I do.

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So you’ll pardon me if I respond your assurance that you will drop your sword with a) a 50 lb bag of rock salt, b) a hale and hearty GFY, and c) a requirement of 100% compliance with my terms as a condition of your surrender.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

And, taking a page from your book, this is not a negotiation.

If you try to negotiate, the beat goes on.

If you question, the beat goes on.

If you bother anyone else, even somebody I don’t know or care about, the beat goes on.

If you cannot figure out how to control yourself, the beat goes on.

If you want it to stop, then stop it.

All you have to do is quit, and weather the shame of it for 2 weeks, probably less. Easy enough if you just power down and read a nice Danielle Steel or Jackie Collins rag. If you’re half as intelligent as you think you are, you know you are going to have to take that hit – it will come regardless, and I don’t have any power over what people say on Twitter. Yes, I do have power over the comments here, but I made a conscious decision to allow exactly the kind of comments you decry, including from you. I will not change that policy to suit you or anyone else. You dug your own hole here, and you hastened your own exit after being given every chance. You didn’t care enough to answer one question. Your choice. Your action. Your consequence. Your responsibility.

You want a “truce?”

Now you know how to get it.

I hope I have not been unclear.

UPDATE –
https://twitter.com/parkinsonsmedia/status/513031724608266242

https://twitter.com/parkinsonsmedia/status/513031869072703488

Wait…what?

Are you saying you NEVER WERE SERIOUS ABOUT A TRUCE?

Well…color me shocked.

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Monkey Dance Monday

I had the inaugural “Moving On Monday” post all set to go, but the real time Parkinson’s Disease advocacy coming out of Elkridge today has far surpassed anything I could have imagined. Maybe next week.

Remember waaaaay back – gosh, when was it? Seems so long ago…oh, yeah – Saturday, when he said
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You know, I hate to say “he can talk the talk, but he can’t walk the walk,” because that seems just a cruel thing to say to a man, person cartoon supervillain with his challenges.

But when have I ever let propriety stop me?

He can talk the talk:
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Since then, one hundred twenty new tweets (and counting) without one mention of Parkinson’s Disease.

(I know some of you young zombies out there are at least partially responsible for a couple of them – I will generously share credit)

He can’t walk the walk (or roll the roll, as the case may be). He’ll always be back for more punishment.

I hope everyone had a good time watching his masterful Feldtdown today. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid if I did, he might stop.

You’re welcome.

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AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!

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He doesn’t really want that, you know. Of course we all know that.

He had it. He had the “LEAVE ME ALONE!!” It was the most important “get” that he took away from the settlement. All he had to do to stay left alone was to do the same.

But he couldn’t. The poor, bitter, hateful, lonely old mandouchebag. He had to go hunting again. He had to come hunting for me.

So, for the THIRD GODDAMN TIME (because YES, HE IS THAT DENSE), I trotted out something Grady had given me. And finally, finally! the tiny four-watt bulb that hangs outside on the terrazzo of the ever-so-spacious mansion where I live rent-free popped on, the “trapsie-wapsie” snapped shut, and we have liftoff on what looks to be a three day monkey-dancing Feldtdown of epic, nay GARGANTUAN proportions.

He wants to be left alone, but only on his terms. He wants to be left alone from the consequences of his actions. He wants to be left alone to tell his lies without anyone standing up to call him out. He wants to be left alone to hunt down Grady and try to scalp his job again.

Because that worked out so well the last time.

He’s not afraid of Grady. Just ask him.

“No, I’m not afraid of that mentally unbalanced, self-professed sociopath. (You notice he can never let that menacing phrase go? Just like he can never remember the evil thing Grady did that required the doxing in the first place?) Never mind that I falsified evidence in order to swear out a peace order at the mere whiff of a suggestion that he might be looking in the general direction of the state where I live. Which I then completely pussied out on at the prospect of him showing up to face me in court. He doesn’t scare me. I’m not even a little bit scared.”

(Grady wrote that bit. Good, right?)

It’s worth remembering. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever. He lies. Especially when he says he wants to be left alone.

Or when he says –

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What he’s really saying is: “someone PLEASE tell me who Krendler is! PLEASE, PLEASE, mock me! hate me! loathe me! Give my pathetic existence the gravity of your hatred as a substitute for the lost love and companionship of the family that I’ve driven away and the failures I have endured!”

And what I have learned is that the best (and most FUN!) way to deal with him is to DENY him what he really wants by GIVING HIM what he says he wants.

He doesn’t “fucking CARE” who I am. Hence the frivolities of the weekend thus far, to show how much he DOESN’T care.

He says “LEAVE ME ALONE!!” after nearly a week of being left alone, during which he tried to bait me, followed by four days of hammering at Hoge and every Lickspittle in reach.

So I’m with Grace. And Dalton.

I’ll leave him alone.

Until it’s time to NOT leave him alone.

Which surely won’t be long.

Tomorrow – the Major Bleg.

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In His Own Words

I didn’t write this. Bill Schmalfeldt did. I took it from his blog to demonstrate his true self-image, the true nature of his character. And here’s another example of Bill Schmalfeldt’s own words, also taken from the same post:

“Therefore, their use qualifies as ‘fair use’ for the purpose of demonstration and criticism.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Bill Schmalfeldt’s raging id:

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He said it, not me.

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