Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!







Attacks on family members…

Rude Photoshops…

Copyright infringement…

I could go on for hours…

Skirtsflap can dish it out, but it can’t take it. 
If it wasn’t for double standards…


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK! Part II

Do you know what I like about DUMBFUCK? It’s that it can’t stop talking about itself – EVER. This means its stories are never straight, its lies compound and catching it out becomes a simple matter of following up with the official paperwork on file with the Federal Government. You know, fed-to-fed.

Ol’ DUMBFUCK loves talking about its career as a journalist, broadcaster, writer-editor and a whole bunch of other crap. It loves talking about its time at XM radio. It loves talking about its time at the National Institute of Health and USDA. It loves talking about its time serving the US Navy – not once, but twice! It loves talking about how it was a GS-13 making $97,000 a year doing podcasts or how it “ran” the TV and radio stations on major warships. DUMBFUCK loves telling those stories because those stories make it look good.

But did you know DUMBFUCK’s federal civil service started WAAAAAAAAY before it was employed by the NIH or the USDA? That it involved DUMBFUCK in a writer-editor position? Did you know it was a GS-5 when it was hired on at this job? That it was for a very important federal entity at a very important location?


We know EVERYTHING ELSE about DUMBFUCK because DUMBFUCK can’t shut up about itself. But we don’t know about this mystery job? Why, DUMBFUCK…why??

Maybe because DUMBFUCK didn’t put it on its LinkedIn resumé and instead made up some bullshit employment to cover the gap filled by the mystery job. (Who is ever gonna follow up, right?)

Maybe because DUMBFUCK refuses to publicly acknowledge it was employed at this particular agency and location. (Yet DUMBFUCK will tell you how it peed himself on its front steps. What does that tell us?)

Maybe because DUMBFUCK was forced to resign for reasons that are quite…embarrassing. (Oh, snap!)

Let’s look at DUMBFUCK’s LinkedIn account and see what it was doing…oh…right after it got out of the Navy:

Bills LinkedIn Profile

Hmm…that’s funny. Why would something who was discharged from the US Navy in San Francisco, CA (Naval Station Treasure Island) in 1985 go all the way to Watertown, Wisconsin to work as a news director for five short months only to come straight back to California to work the next 2 years in rinky-dink media organizations up and down the coast? That’s certainly strange.

But there is a method to DUMBFUCK’s madness…why else would it list being employed as

  • News Director for WTTN/WMLW,
  • Managing Editor of the Coalinga Courier, and
  • City Hall Reporter/Columnist for The Manteca Record

when it was ACTUALLY employed as a GS-5 Writer-Editor for the Public Affairs Office of Naval Air Rework Facility Alameda?

Oh look…here’s the last SF-50 for its time at NARF Alameda:


One must wonder why DUMBFUCK is not so PROUD of this civil service period of its life? Everything it loves is here! The Navy! Journalism! Federal Civil Service! Fed-to-fed! Pretty good work, snagging a GS-05 position right after being discharged from active duty! Why isn’t it proud enough to share THAT with us when it shares every other detail of its miserable dumbfuck life with us?

I’m sure it had NOTHING to do with its being forced to resign from that position for…well…heh…which is why it NEVER, EVER, EVER talks about working for NARF Alameda.

Thankfully other people were willing to talk about it and point us in the right directions to find official fed-to-fed documents.

Just remember folks:

Bills Tweet


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

So when he got fired in the Golden (Shower) State in 1986, was it for touching Boy Scouts in their bathing suit area?

I guess he’s a Big Government Lib’ruhl ‘cuz he knows they don’t have the resources to do even minimal background checks between coasts.  You know, just like small town media outlets…or not.


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!


…and I didn’t have to lift a finger!

Next it’s going to tell me that all I have to do to make it disappear is to leave it on the curb and it will cause a magical truck come by, with burly men who will throw it in the back and take it away forever.

Wouldn’t that be nice?  Unfortunately there’d be another pile of it to throw in the truck again next week. It just keeps piling up.


Negotiating Is Done, DUMBFUCK!

One day last week I called up a local BBQ joint and ordered some takeout for lunch.  They told me it would be about $13, and I told them I’d pick it up in 20 minutes.

When I got there, I told them I’d take the food today and if they didn’t bother me for a couple weeks I would come in and pay them $6.50, if I felt like it.

Did you know that when you have a taste for some REALLY GOOD brisket, a Quarter Pounder with Cheese tastes awful?

But that’s not my point. My point is, DUMBFUCK WANTS SOMETHING. It is buying. I am selling. I have the product. It has been told the price it must pay to get what it wants. If it doesn’t pay that price, it walks away empty-handed.


It should save its money. There are other prices to be paid.

You see, I’m not going to do what it wants. Went that route once. After Hoge and it settled the copyright suit last August, my very first response was to comment that if it “changed [its] behavior on the Internet, I’d have no reason to write ruthless parodies.” And I stepped back. Left it alone.  It lasted 5 whole days before it popped up to brag that it was writing a book and “borrowing” my content under Fair Use.

So, back in the game.

Now? Fool me once? Shame on you.  Fool me twice? Not in this lifetime.

Even if I did what it said, hold on – Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! – in the astronomically improbable event that it was telling the truth, it couldn’t possibly be more than a half-truth.  It might close its Twitter account and shut down its blog, but the only surprise would come if it doesn’t already, as I type this, have both a new Twitter handle and a new blog ready to go. Genius thinks it will put one over on me?  Don’t think so.

The terms are set and fixed, DUMBFUCK.  It wants the brisket, it pays the thirteen bucks.  Or else it gets the hose again.

And just to note for the record, you know what’s great about being a shit covered pig?

Soap and water takes it right off.

OTOH, when you see a mad dog coming down the street, cockeyed and foaming at the mouth, there’s really only one thing you can do with it then, because what that dog’s got can’t be washed off.  Isn’t that right, Mr. Finch?

Oh, before I forget – give your “beloved” my best when you finish ignoring her to do your podcast.


Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

Oh, No! Pleeeze Don’t Th’o Me In De Briar Patch!  


Though let’s be abundantly clear.  It has had the tools in its possession to make this stop for months.


All it has ever had to do to take all my leverage away, to remove me from the field altogether, was to follow its own advice, and “exercise the self-control that God gave a child.”

But it can’t do that.  It doesn’t have the ability.

It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – that it lacks the ability to put its spouse ahead of itself, the selfish bastard.

It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – its inability to love its spouse half as much as it hates me, which may be a tenth as much as it hates my friend John.

It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – its complete failure to consider the idea that it might sacrifice anything for the welfare of a person it claims to love.

It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – its diminished mental capacity in its inability to bring a minimal degree of focus to anything not having to do with its collection of perverse obsessions with (in no particular order of importance or intensity): me, John Hoge, homosexuality, self-publishing and podcasting as public humiliation, insulting all icky girls as proxies for the ones it was too terrified of to look at, much less speak to in high school, all things related to human bio-waste management, and inserting its useless pee stick into the “pooter holes” (God help us!) of poor defenseless Cub Scouts like this one:

Boy Scout

Sure, if it wants the pain to stop, I can make the pain stop.

All it has to do is stop touching the hot stove. Even a child figures that out reasonably fast.  I’m sure if it applies its diminished mental capacities to the problem, it can also gain the measure of self control that it expects we humans to exercise.  

Just…what God gave a child…that’s all it needs…surely it can manage that…unless it’s mental capacity is even more diminished than originally thought…

Or the beatings can continue until morale improves.

Makes no nevermind to me.

Now…where did I leave my shine box?