No, wait…that’s not it…
The First Rule of Twitter Holes is…
when you’re in one, STOP DIGGING!
In other news,
Water is wet.
Bears shit in the woods.
Pope still Catholic.
Gravity still a thing.
STOVES STILL HOT.
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.
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.
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.
Are you saying you NEVER WERE SERIOUS ABOUT A TRUCE?
Well…color me shocked.
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.
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?
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.
(Note – I’m working on varying my writing style. Let me know how I’ve done.)
This is one of those things that’s hard to write about, but since the purpose of this blog is to share my experiences with a debilitating neurological disease, if I only wrote about the nice stuff the blog wouldn’t be worth much, now would it?
So brace yourself. I’ll be as euphemistic as possible.
Jill and I were settling down to watch an “On Demand” movie. We were about 10 minutes into the movie when, without warning, I noticed I was…
I made my way to the bathroom to assess the damage. Let’s just say it was moderate. My brain eventually realized what my bottom was doing and managed to close the barn door after only SOME of the horses had gotten out.
Unfortunately, some of those horses had made their way up the back of my Depends where they soiled my underpants and the shorts I was wearing. My shirt was spared.
I got everything all cleaned up, the unfortunate adult diaper was bagged and tossed into the trash, the soiled clothing was dropped into the wash, I put on a new Depends, new shorts, and some long pajama pants.
I was a MESSY little baby.
I guess they stay on the shopping list.
I mean, if I would at LEAST get some kind of WARNING…
Them’s the breaks.
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 –
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.
1925: Napoleon Hill explains in his motivational masterpiece, Think and Grow Rich, that the secret to gaining wealth is to set up in your mind a “definite major purpose,” to intensify that purpose into a desire, and to “concentrate upon a given desire until that desire becomes a burning obsession.”
1946: Man’s Search For Meaning, Dr. Viktor Frankl’s memoir of concentration camp survival and the meaning he gleaned from it, offers these lessons:
2001: Jim Collins’ bestseller, Good To Great, details a conversation with Admiral James Stockdale, who spent several years in Vietnam as a P.O.W in the Hanoi Hilton. His ultimate lesson for survival, which has come to be known as the Stockdale Paradox:
“You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”
2003: Aron Ralston went hiking Blue John Canyon in Utah, when a boulder shifted and pinned his arm to the canyon wall. After almost a week alone, dehydrated and anticipating death, he used a dull multi-tool and a lot of determination to amputate his own arm and hike toward rescue. The movie 127 Hours details his story and how that episode has changed his life.
These true stories intersect across a century at the point where desperation, self-control, desire and success come together. There is no limit to what you can accomplish if your mind is properly prepared. So don’t waste any time; get out there! Get ready!
Your moment is coming.
…come sit next to me!
This is an open thread.
As I hope I have proven by now, I run a very liberal comment section. Even Bill Schmalfeldt is welcome here, once he answers a single outstanding question.
Let’s open the floor. Spew your venom, spit your bile, blow your ugly boogies out right here!
Realizing that Howard has already displayed a highly advanced talent, let’s have your very best cutdowns, insults and overall nastiness.
Try not to libel or defame anybody.
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK! THIS IS NOT, REPEAT NOT A POST FOR THE WEAK HEARTED. THE EASILY OFFENDED, OR THOSE WITH DELICATE LADYPARTS (no offense). 😜😈