A Weekend In Which No One Threatens To Kill Me, No One Even Mentions Me, And This CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO STAND!


It was just one of those things. I was working on leaving something big in my briefs in response to the summons that I’m expecting, and I wanted to find out the date when a certain pinhead wrote a certain pinheaded blog entry. I couldn’t remember because of the dementia. So I was searching my Ombudsman Patriot website to find when I wrote it, and my brain pinged. The mind control module had activated. I set aside what I was doing and went on my roundabout tour of all the blogs that the mind control module forces me to read a hundred times a day, and I found that Patrick Grady had been fired.

He’s the guy that sent me a picture of an old toy named Bill that caused an avalanche of bigs that even my wife still talks about today. I mean, we had neighbors from three lots away standing in our yard waving lit matches like it was an REO Speedwagon concert. And this was in the depths of winter, which really should tell you something about the stench, right? Even the dogs wouldn’t come in the house until the next day.

And he wrote a comment once supposing what a “hypothetical” bi-polar person in his position might think of doing to a “hypothetical” person in my position who “hypothetically” contacted his “hypothetical” employer and “hypothetically” tried to get him fired.

Well, since Grady was using his work computer to harass me by attempting to view my blog (eek!), I felt it was only right to contact him and ask for the records that every pornographer is supposed to keep on file as proof that his models are of age and have consented, and which he is supposed to produce ON DEMAND!! (not to broke-down, fat, old fake internet investigative journalists like me, but to sworn law officers, but why should that matter to the great Parkinson Williams?) And I also know he has a disabled son, so I called the DCFS on him to make sure the boy wasn’t getting butt-raped if I wasn’t being included, because you know how I loves the BUTT STUFF.

Oh, wait…I think I’m getting my harassment victims mixed up…I don’t know. Whatever.

Anyway, that was in March. Today, I hear he’s been fired. And he’s not taking it well. Not at all. He’s so upset he wrote a tweet. A TWEET!! ZOMG!!!!!!ELEVENTY!!


He’s in Illinois. The federal government is just down the road here in Washington, D.C. The NSA is in Fort Meade. Lots of IT jobs to be had if you don’t mind getting paid 120% of your value for working at 30% of your capacity. How do you think I wound up in this swell trailer? And I’m living proof that it is practically impossible to get fired from a government job. So why would he be wondering about jobs in… in… in…


The axis of the world running through the top of my head just wiggled a little! Or maybe it was the mind control device telling me to get on with it and move on to the next website that makes fun of me and is killing me by shaving years – YEARS!! – off my life! I don’t know. Whatever.

Why did a pterodactyl just fly past my window? This room doesn’t even HAVE a window.

Now, I really do not want to see the head of any vintage toy for disabled boys who like the underage pornographic butt stuff to get man-raped unless I get to watch. So?

Patrick Grady is NOT Allowed to Kill Me! (He was before. I even invited him to come and do it several times, but he dragged his feet and that window has closed. Which is odd, because this room doesn’t even HAVE a window.)

I threatened my wife with a full day of diaper changes, so she drove me to the County Detention Center. Because it was Saturday, that is where the Court Commissioner can be found. She recognized me right away and said to my wife, “Are you sure you’re in the right place? I can call Sugar Grove, and lock him up until those big boys get here with the jacket and mask. But if he hasn’t done anything, I can’t just leave him back there.”

Gina snickered, but I kept my temper. Barely. I growled at the female lady type commissioner (obviously an idiot), “Shut up. I’m here to swear out a peace order. Some guy 900 miles away that I doxed in February tweeted about the job market here. I’m in DANGER and FEAR FOR MY LIFE!”

After she stopped laughing (and boy was she lucky there was a desk between us, and I was in a walker, or I’d have taught her a lesson in manners, boy), she got the forms. I filled them out, raised my right hand, after being reminded which one it was, and received the interim peace order.

Right now it’s an interim order not to kill me. On Monday, Judge willing, it becomes a temporary order not to kill me. Then, probably on June 9, I’ll ask the judge to turn it into a six-month order not to kill me. I doubt that I’ll win that, because almost everyone in the Howard County Legal community knows there’s no one in the county more deserving of a good killing than me. I think I even saw a bag on somebody’s desk with the makings for S’Mores inside, and a Post-It note that said “Park W.” on it, like they were all waiting to have a big celebratory bonfire or something.

I don’t know. Whatever.

On the way inside, I started to take those little, tiny, tippytoe, rapid steps that I take whenever I’m about to post an epic online faildox like the one of @embryriddlealum a couple of posts up. I was so excited about screwing with Grady again that I got carried away. I hit a downward slope that they put there just to trip me up, the bastards. I tried to stop, but 280 balloons in a rolly chair don’t stop on a dime, let me tell you. A brick pillar jumped out at me and knocked me down on my side. When it was moving back into place to hold up the roof, I swear to cheeses kreist I heard it whisper “John Hoge says hello…”

Hoge. All his fault. As usual. HE told Grady to write that tweet. HE told Grady to come to Maryland looking for work.


Where was I?

My wife and two perfect strangers rushed to my aid. Well, “rushed” is sort of a relative term…anything faster than my top waddling speed is rushing to me , so… Even though I am lighter than I have been since I weighed 1980 in 1980, I was not able to see my feet. Gina and another female lady type person tried to lift me by my arms, but I sweat so much they couldn’t get a grip. If I hadn’t been in pain it would have been funny. Or if it had happened to somebody else, that would have been REALLY funny.

Then the lady’s husband got into the act. It took him a bit to get the right grip, but when he did, he gave me a wedgie that was better than anything my twin brother Stevenson ever managed – and trust me, that’s saying something. It’s a good thing I had taken care of business before we left the trailer, because that guy would have squeezed a load right down the legs of my pants, and I’d have been surrounded by flames again like Mick Jagger singing “Sympathy For the Devil” during an encore.

Most people would be trying to work that underwear outta there, but you know what? It feels pretty good!

And now, the very same people who BRAGGED about getting me fired from the Examiner (and they’re out there, you know…I screen cap everything bad anyone’s ever written about me. Just don’t ask me to show you anything. Only I need proof that Krendler sold anything to Hoge, I don’t have to prove anything because my WORD IS MY BOND, LICKSPITTLES!!), are rending their garments in HORROR that Patrick G. Grady lost his job… and I don’t even know if I had anything to do with it (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more). Cheeses Kreist. I reported him more than two months ago! I was expecting this to happen weeks ago!

Oh, well. Gotta manufacture death threats or I just can’t sleep at night.

Evening came, and then the morning…Sunday

Speaking of which, I had trouble sleeping last night. Even though making up the idea that Patrick G. Grady is coming to kill me, and running off to tell lies to the County Court Commissioner to get an interim peace order was supposed to make my black heart feel better, it didn’t.

It just dawns on me that if a bi-polar, self-confessed sociopath was going to come kill me, what was a stupid piece of paper going to do to stop him? I already know he has a firearms training permit (or was that a lie, too? I don’t know. Whatever.), so he surely owns multiple firearms.

I don’t want anybody to think he lost his job because of me (even though I know he did, because I’m an internet badass with mad skillz). I reported him to his employer on March 15. They fired him on May 30. That’s more than two months, if my wife’s math is correct.

It’s gonna be hard enough – which reminds me, we got a fresh jar of peanut butter and I, um, “forgot” to feed the dogs this morning…good times coming! – for this poor psychotic bastard to get a job, without having a Peace Order on his record. And he has a teenage son…I wonder if he likes peanut butter…

Oh, Patrick Grady is an asshole and a Grade A one at that. But he also seems to be much smarter than me, and I did dox him in February for some reason… wish I could remember what it was…

But his kid doesn’t deserve to suffer because his dad is a jerk. The way my kids have.

Besides, I just made a big stinky and I need to go change my Depends.

Evening came, and then the morning…

So now, I’ve been banned from commenting on two blogs created specifically to discuss the fact that I am a horrid person. I attempted to participate in the open comment sections of these blogs to explain myself and why I wear blue contact lenses to hide the fact that I’m completely full of shit. There’s a third blog out there that I apparently sent a mental directive to, of the kind Hoge uses on me to force me to visit his blog, telling the owner to delete all my comments and ban me or my wife and doctor would take my computer away. I guess my mind control Kung Fu is weak, because he only edited my comments (after screen capping all of them) and set up his filters to kick me into his moderation queue. At least that’s what he said. I haven’t tried to comment since, because I’m and internet badass with mad skillz, remember?

They don’t want me on their blog, because I fill their comments with shit even faster than I do a pair of Depends, but of a much lower quality. The want to sit and natter about what a naughty boy I am, that is their right. Just like I do with John Hoge. But they are not allowed to libel me. Only I am allowed to do that.

This is libel.


As the subject of the entry to which Mr. Hoge was commenting was yours truly, he has stated for the world that I am stealing intellectual property. You can tell by the fact that I’m not mentioned by name in the entry that it’s all about me – oh! The axis of the world that runs through the top of my head just shifted back into place! That’s better! – and because Hoge’s comment has peppered my name, “someone,” throughout the entire comment! And as we all know, anything that is not explicitly NOT about ME must therefore IMPLICITLY BE ABOUT ME!!!!!

And because I have proven, using science and pure geometric logic, that it must have been the officers who stole the strawberries and commented about me, it must be a lie. It is defamatory. It is libelous.

And now, the defamation stops. It stops. Now. The defamation.

I am willing to use material without the writer’s permission because when it comes to US Copyright Law, I am the world’s foremost expert among the functionally illiterate. Although I must say that the “functional” half of that description may be fading lately. But I am dead certain about the “illiterate” part.

I know Fair Use. Fair Use was a good friend of mine. And you sir, are no Fair Use.

What the hell was I talking about? I can’t remember… oh, well. It was probably Hoge and LICKSPITTLES.

Whatever. My feet itch. And something is dripping into my ears…

Hoge has initiated a lawsuit against me ALLEGING that I have stolen his “intellectual” property. I put intellectual in “quotes” for two reasons: first, I have no idea what that word means, and second, Gina threatened to take away the peanut butter and lock up the dogs if I didn’t.

Copyright law is so simple my dogs can understand it better than Hoge.
1. If someone photoshops a picture of me, that’s infringement and defamation.
2. If I photoshop a picture of someone else, like Ali Akbar or MaryFrances Causey, that’s Fair Use.
3. If someone uses a picture of me without my permission, that’s infringement and defamation.
4. If I use a picture of someone else without their permission, like Nancy Gilly or Patrick Grady, that’s Fair Use.
5. If someone photoshops a picture of someone related to me, that’s infringement and defamation.
6. If I photoshop a picture of someone else, who might or might not be related to you, that’s Fair Use.
7. If someone uses a picture of someone related to me without my permission, that’s infringement and defamation.
8. If I use a picture of someone related to you without permission that’s Fair Use.

How much more simple could it be? Fair Use isn’t stealing, and anything I do is Fair Use, so it can’t be stealing! Ergo (whatever that means), Hoge is guilty of libel. QED (whatever that means).

So shut up, hater.

So Patrick Grady is not coming to kill me, I made up the threats I used to get the interim Peace Order against him, which I then felt guilty about because I realized there’s an outside chance he could come to Maryland and defend himself in court, which would make me look like the fool I am and earn me a trip to the Safe Ward for an evaluation. Then Hoge didn’t mention me in a comment on a blog post that also didn’t mention me, which means he must be stalking me. But right now I have dogs, peanut butter, and drawers full of bigs and fear urine, and all is right with the world.

How was your weekend?


Schmalfeldt Wants To Be ‘Shut Down,’ Not Argued With

Publisher’s note: This is Bill Schmalfeldt’s view. We, at The Thinking Man’s Zombie, enjoy parodying Bill Schmalfeldt by taking his words and twisting them back on his fat, stinky ass. But sometimes, God provides an epic bit of dumbassery that requires little but to change names and visual aids.

I learned this lesson a little too late. Too late for my health, too late for my reputation, just too late. But not too late to pass some advice on to my reader (Gail) and those of you imaginary and or accidental readers who are righteously outraged by the filth smeared on your computer screens by the haters, misogynists, homophobes, anal rape enthusiasts and fools. But enough about me.

What I am about to show you should make you physically ill. I hope.
Continue reading “Schmalfeldt Wants To Be ‘Shut Down,’ Not Argued With”


Toddlers With Loaded Guns

Would you knowingly hand a loaded pistol to a toddler?

Of course not. And you don’t need to have the reasons explained to you. You just wouldn’t.

For much the same reasons, Bill Schmalfeldt, the extremely short-termed former President of the convicted bomber/perjurer/drug dealer Brett Kimberlin Renegade Chapter of the National Blogger’s Club, Inc., should not be allowed to have a computer with access to the Internet.

I am loathe to give this troll any attention whatsoever. He’s like Martin Bashir, but without the tact. Like Alec Baldwin, but without the impulse control. Like Rachel Maddow, but without the Adam’s Apple. Like Touré, but without the racial cachét to compensate for his ignorance. Like Stephanie Miller, but without the bowel control.

What set Bill off this time?

Lee Stranahan, his wife and their dead-in-the-womb child.

Apparently, Bill doesn’t like the fact that this grief-stricken man whose daughter died in utero has different political views. And so, bullying, defamation, libel and harassment of Stranahan, his family, and anyone who rises to his defense has become Bill Schmalfeldt’s raisôn d’être.

Bill Schmalfeldt has had over 23,000 accounts on Twitter.

Now, I’m not here to make jokes about Bill’s “Creator” being the south end of a northbound crack whore, which rhymes with boar. That would be crude. And Bill loves the crude. I read somewhere recently that reading his Twitter account is like jumping face first into a brimming septic tank with your mouth open, then trying to stay under as long as you can.

Especially when he talks about women, or makes the homophobic insults that seem to be his bread and butter when insulting men.

I don’t know what can be done about additional Obamacare regulations that would require conservatives to give birth in a government hospital where they and their children could be tattooed, chipped and tracked for re-education and indoctrination.

I do know what can be done about Bill Schmalfeldt.

What do you do when you see a toddler holding a loaded gun?

You take it away from him. Unless he shoots you with it first.

Bill has the First Amendment right to express his stupidity. He can purchase a soap box, stand on a street corner, and scream at the moon if he likes. Which he does like to do. A lot.

Twitter, a private company, is not required to provide Bill with a platform to spread his hatred and harassment.

Nor is Amazon. Nor CreateSpace. Nor Lulu.com. Nor Smashwords.

Twitter, and other social media and online publishing services, should take the proper step of shutting down Bill Schmalfeldt. There is nothing in the First Amendment that gives Schmalfeldt or his master, convicted bomber Brett Coleman Kimberlin (who sues to censor anyone who speaks unkindly about him at the drop of a hat), the right to have a Twitter account. Or to publish a book.

There is a sickness in the left wing of this country. We ignore it at our peril. I learned quickly that arguing with people like Schmalfeldt is pointless because they simply have no tolerance for any views but their own. Schmalfeldt is enjoying every angry Tweet he receives about this topic. I think a reasonable solution would be to put Schmalfeldt in a room with Lee Stranahan, lock the door, and open it when Schmalfeldt’s screaming and crying in terror can no longer be heard, and the coppery smell of drying blood overcomes the stink of the overflowing Depends.

Schmalfeldt is a coward, a keyboard commando.

I believe it has nothing to do with Lee Stranahan, his family or their personal medical decisions. The idea that a death in childbirth of a child in Texas is somehow newsworthy to a self-styled unemployed pretend journalist in Maryland? That’s just a symptom. Bill Schmalfeldt is a disease. And those three or four misguided, ignorant people on earth who take him seriously are the small, scurrying rodents that carry this disease from place to place.

Don’t engage him. Shun him. Deny him a platform. Ridicule him. Teach your children that Bill is always wrong. Teach the kids that people like him exist only as cautionary tales of what happens when you profess tolerance with your mouth but practice hatred, harassment and evil in your deeds.


An Open Letter to Bill Schmalfeldt

Over at BlubberSuesBloggers, Flynn has posted a letter from Bill Schmalfeldt.

It reminded me of something I wrote back when he was having issues with copyright ownership of the first post on this blog.

It had been a comment but grew too long.  I put it aside and by the time I came back to it the moment had passed. But Bill’s strange letter to Flynn deserves a response. So here it is, after the jump: Continue reading “An Open Letter to Bill Schmalfeldt”