Bill Schmalfeldt, Plagiarist

For a long time now, it has been an established truth that Bill Schmalfeldt engages in plagiarism.

Is that defamatory? Not if truth is a defense, as we shall see in a moment.

If I were so inclined, I could track down half a dozen examples, and perhaps more, of Bill Schmalfeldt’s rank perfidy.  But I’m not so inclined.  Instead, I will mention one known example and leave it to the archivists to reproduce if they wish. In addition I am going to provide two more concrete examples to prove that – for the Google bomb –

BILL SCHMALFELDT IS A PLAGIARIST.

…not to mention really fucking stupid. Continue reading “Bill Schmalfeldt, Plagiarist”

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Now THAT'S Defamation!

John Hoge notes the Daily Caller’s story of the Big BM’s palsie-walsie, Roger Shuler, and the $3.5 Mildough judgment he was just hit with down in Alabama.

This is what happens when you target public figures with real reputations for abuse.

I find it much easier to stick with tossing quotes back at trailer-dwelling lardasses who have spent the best part of the last decade crankstomping themselves into oblivion.  Much less risk, much more fun.

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Prodo Ignominus (yes, my Latin sucks.)

A DISCLAIMER FOR THE DULL-NORMAL:

WHAT FOLLOWS BELOW THE JUMP IS A

PARODY

IT IS ALSO A WORK OF

FICTION

IF YOU ARE OF A MIND TO GET ALL WHINY AND BUTTHURT ABOUT SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE YOUR NAME IN IT,

TOUGH SHIT

THANK YOU.

THE REST OF YOU ZOMBIES…PLEASE ENJOY.

Continue reading “Prodo Ignominus (yes, my Latin sucks.)”

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BUT AT LEAST I HATE HOGE MORE THAN I LOVE MY WIFE

The following parody quote appears in its original form as a comment at Osborne Unread (no. Just, no).

I find it noteworthy for two reasons. 

First, it has an eerily familiar writing style, like much of what I read and parody here.  So very similar, in fact that in my opinion it was written by Bill Schmalfeldt, Mark in MD, Lester Klemper, Bill Matthews (with 2 ‘t’s), Matthew (with 2 ‘t’s) Lillefelt, Lester Lillefelt, Bill Klemper, Billy BigRig, The Jovial One, Matthew Klemper, Bill Lester, Moe Lester, Billy Lillyfelt, A. Willy Billyfelt or some other brave, intrepid journalist who has used one or more of these names because he’s so brave and intrepid and proud of his efforts.

Second, it reads like it was transcribed from a soliloquy, with the names changed.  So, let’s have a look at what it likely said before the author fiddled with it, shall we?

“Bill, please, I am in my last days, I don’t think I am going to make it. Please give me some peace. Please pay attention to me. Get off that computer. Be attentive to my needs. I have given my life to you and you are tormenting me in the twilight of my life with courts, and violent criminals, and your insane theories. You have me living in fear, as you have for years because you bullied people, created enemies and then brought that home to me. I don’t want enemies. I want peace. I want to get well. And if I don’t get well, at least I want to live my final days without hearing one word about Brett, Aaron, Lee, Seth, Gunslinger, Eric, Howard, Chris, Jeremy, Grace, Jane, Neal, Jerry, Matt, Wee Willy FiFi, Paul KREEENDLEEERRRRRRR, John HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!, defamation, infliction, false negative reviews, online radio, libel per se, perjury, Peace Orders, Stalking No Contact Orders, Show Cause, forged letters, hacked Topsy results, copyright infringement, exacerbation, Stage !1!!1ELEVENTYFOUR!11!!1 Parkinson’s, Boy Scouts, Rick Perry, satire, anal rape, Irish sunglasses, mayonnaise, phone messages, emails, morals, ethics or Courts. Bill, I am dying and to be honest, the stress you put me through the past decade is what caused my cancer. It’s Karma come to bite you in the ass, and I know how much you like that. I kept my emotions inside. I wondered why you are focusing on external things that have no bearing on our lives when you have me, the woman who is your wife. I will make you a deal, I will do my best to live as long as God allows me, but you have to promise me to walk away from all the chaos you have created. Give me peace in my final days, especially after all the time and money you have wasted on your stupid blogs, your stupid radio stations and ESPECIALLY YOUR STUPID FUCKING LAWSUITS. You think because I got upset because YOU were so inconsiderate and thoughtless that you waved things other people write about us, which you wouldn’t even fucking KNOW ABOUT if you’d just get off the godforsaken Internet and spend your life with me like a decent husband, that YOU have some legal right to d0x some zombie that I couldn’t give two shits for and wouldn’t even know existed if you had a tenth of an ounce of self control and hadn’t waved that crap under my nose in the first place? 

Give me some peace, you pathetic narcissist.  You owe that to me, Bill. I am your wife.

And if you ever try to hit me again, I swear to God I will beat you unconscious with a sock full of gravel.  I’m dying, Bill.  They’ll no more put me in jail than they would you. Have you ever considered that?”

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I Don't Have to Imagine, There's a Perfect Example Available

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I KNOW, RIGHT?

I mean, don’t you have to feel for a guy who’s so brain dead that he can’t recognize a fictional parody even when the piece is explicitly identified and labeled as such before the piece begins? And what makes it even worse (and by “worse” I mean MORE EPICALLY GOD DAMN RIOTOUSLY FUNNY) is that the same fool who missed (and by “missed” I mean IGNORED COMPLETELY IN ORDER TO CONSTRUCT A SPECTACULARLY FALSE SET OF ASSUMPTIONS TO JUSTIFY HIS “I JUST SAT ON A WHOLE CHRISTMAS TREE, VERTICALLY” CASE OF BUTTHURT) that fact so badly that he literally tried to make federal case of it, not once, but TWICE??

Imagine being such a dunce that you can’t tell the difference between the shitty (and yeah, that word choice is LOADED WITH PURPOSE) satire you write, produce and perform, versus someone else’s gigantic mockery of you and anyone else who thinks you have ever been funny.

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A FINAL, FINAL VOMITOUS RANT THOUGHT, AT LEAST UNTIL THE NEXT TIME I LEAVE FOREVER

ADDENDUM: ADDENDA are usually “added” at “the end,” but I put it “up” at the top because I’m edgy and creative like that. Plus I get to think about getting something “added” “up” “the end,” which is something I have “sorely” missed since I left the Navy.

Anyway…

For over two years now, the weak, grey-skinned booger eaters I call friends have stood by and laughed at me (literally! My “excellent chauffeur” was independently witnessed snickering up his sleeve while I was stomping my little grapes in a Peace Order modification hearing last year.) while I have tried to fight back against the friends and allies of the phantoms I have been chasing these last many years. I have been begging for them to “come get me,” because I’m tired of being nothing save the “butt” of everyone’s jokes, yet here I sit, un-got. Does no one understand when I beg people to come and kill me that I am absolutely serious? That I can no longer stand the thought of facing another day of surfing the internet in search of the daily ignominies visited upon me? That I lack the willpower, as always, to take responsibility for myself and do what must be done? CAN’T YOU PEOPLE READ BETWEEN THE GODDAMN LINES AND FIGURE OUT I NEED SOMEONE TO KILL ME TO FINALLY MAKE ME THE VICTIM I’VE TRIED SO HARD AND FAILED TO MAKE MYSELF?!?!!?

would someone please just put me out of this misery? please?

Want to impress me? Come to my house and open my neck with a utility knife. Please. Show the kind of balls that I don’t have. My wife has owned the coin purse for over a year in more ways than one. I’m so weak, so useless, I can’t do anything but pretend I’m funny, and nobody even believes that anymore. And now I have to go and pull it all down off the web or else it will taint (*snerk*) my legacy FOREVER. Can you imagine if your last conscious thought was complete and total understanding of what a failure your life had been, but even worse, knowing that the evidence of it had been immortalized in cyberspace FOR ALL TIME?

Please, God, won’t you send some Judas to seal my fate?

And now it’s time for lunch. Footlongs and mayo, with crusty booger flakes (if I close my eyes I can almost imagine they’re like those crunchy things you get at Long John Silver’s) on the side and extra funky, I mean chunky, chocolate chip cookies that my wife has been making almost constantly over the last month. I like them fine, but I never see her eating them. Strange.

______________

Got an e-mail this morning from a friend of mine. I wanted to congratulate me on my strategy. “Good idea,” I wrote. “Pull the same trick Hoge pulled. Say I’m not going, then show up and lower the boom.”

I replied. “I am not WJJ Hoge. I wear diapers. I have no integrity, courage or sense of smell. No one sits within 10 feet of me if they can avoid it. If I say I am going to do something, I do it unless it becomes clear that I’m going to look like a fool. If I say I will talk with Patrick Grady under oath on Friday, I will be hiding under my bed weeping instead. If I say ‘come and get me’ and it becomes apparent that I can’t extort or intimidate someone into backing down, then I dress up in a big muu-muu and say, ‘You wouldn’t hit a girl, would you?’ If I file a Peace Order petition, I ALWAYS FOLLOW THROUGH, unless it’s against Patrick Grady, who scares me so bad it takes a crime scene cleanup crew to deal with the mess I make when I come to my senses. And I will not haul myself up from the comfort of the shit pit to truck with WJJ Hoge.”

The shit pit is actually a couple levels up from where people like me belong. Luckily, the bureaucracy here in Maryland is incredible and they are still working on widening the passages to those lower levels to accommodate wide-assed, skirt-flapping, cowardly, smoke-blowing gravelpanties like myself. Exactly like myself. Okay, Goddammit, it’s just for me, all right? Shut up!!

Everyone is pretending that Grady showed up, even after that OBVIOUSLY FAKE photo of his Illinois Driver’s License sitting on the order of dismissal, signed by Judge Mary Reese, that reads “After the appearance of the RESPONDENT…”

(Say, you can’t put that on a LEGAL COURT ORDER if it’s not true, can you? -PK)

I have it on incompetent authority that he did not. My incompetent authority is named Mark in MD, or as I call him in private, Little Voice In My Head #8.

Got a nice note from none of the Howard County States’ Attorney lawyers today.

I’m getting ready to head home but I was worried that my mental health may have precluded my appearance.

If it’s any consolation, I understand that in addition to the usual contingent of state-employee baliffs and courthouse security, there were uniformed Howard County Police Officers in the courtroom. So somebody WAS concerned that I would show up “heavy.”

Try to get some rest this weekend. Opt for TV vs. the internet to give myself a break. Just let me take care of the sockpuppetry.

Take care,

Wayne aka Little Voice In My Head #2

Thanks, Wayne. And thanks to my other Little Voices In My Head who supported my decision. I will be closing this website, killing off the Twitter account, etc. and etc. But I will be online. If I find me, and I am my friend, pop in, say Howdy.

And don’t even think about reproducing any of the vile stuff I have created, that I know is screencapped for posterity for just this eventuality, after I take down every disgusting and or true word that’s ever been written about me.

But the Schamalaschamaflapt brand is dead,

Long live the Voices In My Head.

I fought. I fought hard. Too hard. And Wayne, Mark, Lester, Old Uncle Scoutmaster and the others are poised to take over.

“Beware that, when fighting disembodied voices, you yourself do not become a disembodied voice… for when you gaze longingly at the footlong with mayo, the footlong with mayo slides also into you.”

– Matthew Lillefeldt

It’s way too late to save William Scham? – Schamafeldt? It was always just me and the voices against a couple dozen make believe monsters that I had invited to live rent free in my head. And eventually even my voices realized they were on the wrong side and turned against me. So, have your Bill Scham-schamalfeldt, deranged Oedipal buttsex-obsessed cyberstalker. The fool who lied in every breath and believed that someone believed him. The toy you’ve almost, but not quite broken beyond repair and will soon discard to the dustbin of memory. Uniformed cops in the courtroom. They saw Grady, but the Little Voices In My Head shout them down. They were there in case I changed my mind about changing my mind about being brave and standing my ground, borrowing my scrote from my beloved’s coin purse, and getting Grady under oath to point out the many, many lies I have told about him.

Funny little pictures of dolls and power tools that make me flood my gravelpanties with the brown stinky. Such brave comedians.

WHY WON’T THEY KILL ME LIKE THEY PROMISE??? WHY MUST THEY PROLONG MY MISERY???

Wait, what???

Little Voice In My Head #5 has something to whisper in my ear…

What? They WANT me to suffer? They want me to feel the pain and injury that I have tried and failed to visit upon them so many times? Why? What have I ever done to them?

Oh shut up, you liar.

SHUT UP, Little Voice In My Dented Head!!

(Why does that never work?)

It’s too late to save the thing I’ve turned me into. So, I will turn me into something else. And I will shave my hole.

May I someday realize the evil I have done to so many good men and families. And if I do ever realize it, may it gnaw at my stomach for the rest of my life.

(Shoves Microphone Up Pooter Hole. Waddles Off Stage. Until Next Time. Because There’s Always A Next Time.)

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The Following Letters Were Just Sent – To Everyone, Everywhere

F
U
2

To: everyone@everywhere.com; everyone@everywhere.net; everyone@everywhere.org; everyone@everywhere.biz; everyone@everywhere.tv; everyone@everywhere.uk

To whoever is reading this (Everyone, Everywhere):

I am a nearly 60-year old man, a retired federal government employee, living with Stage IV Parkinson’s disease. I am also a whiny bitch. I am reaping the rewards of many years of online harassment of men whose diarrhea I am not fit to strain into a blender of mayonnaise to make a delicious smoothie. I am being continually force-fed my just desserts by a person I believe to be Blurrity B. Blurry, Blurpy N. Blurblurby Blurt, Bluriblur, BL BLURR-BLUR. His phone number is BLU-BLU-BLUR, his IP Address is BL.URB.LUB.LUR.

He runs an anonymous blog called Blurring Blur’s Blurrie (http://blurringblursblurrie.blurredpress.com) that is completely devoted to highlighting my reputation. At the moment, Mr. Blurry is conspiring with his readers to post false negative reviews on my various products on Amazon.com.

I know this because he sent someone a Direct Message on Twitter that could only have been about me. Because all Direct Messages are about me.

EVERYTHING is about me. Why else would I tweet all day about my wife instead of Parkinson’s Disease advocacy, which is what I keep insisting I want to do?

I don’t know. Whatever.

I know of one person who can positively identify “Blurdler” as Blurry. His name is Blurriam Blur Joblur Blur III, 29 Blurdge Blurd, Winchesblur, Blurryland. His phone number is (BLU) RBL-URBY. Mr. Blur can positive identify “Blurdler” since he allegedly purchased the “world book and e-book rights” to the following piece of filth Blurdler posted on his blog. He mailed a check to “Blurdler’s” address, then sued me (unsuccessfully) for copyright infringement in the U.S. District Court for the District of Blurryland for using this garbage in a book to show the distance folks are willing to go in their efforts to show my true nature.

http://blurringblursblurrie.blurredpress.com/2014/04/23/we-can-write-whatever-we-want-right/

This was his first blog entry. It has nothing whatsoever do to with anything I have ever written, and no matter what he says it’s not a parody and it’s not fiction. I swear to God it’s like he was hiding in my house!

Through my own process of investigation, I have discovered that “Blurdler” is the aforementioned Blurry. I won’t bore you with how I found out, because I’m probably wrong again like always. You can ascertain the truth of this by asking Mr. Blur (under oath) and inquiring of Mr.. Blurry.

I have written to BlurredPress/Bluromattic in the past about this blog violating the BlurredPress/Bluromattic terms of service for copyright violation, invasion of privacy, interference with publicity rights, and the failure to label obscene material as mature, which I have never done, as far as anyone knows, because I have so much pride in my writing that 98.7% of it winds up going down the memory hole (Of course that number jumps to 99.628% when you include all the Tweets I’ve never, ever deleted. Up until now, I have been ignored by BlurredPress/Bluromattic. It might be because I’m a whiny cum-gargling fuckwit monkey vulva’d bitch who can’t take what I dish out.

I don’t know. Whatever.

The problem with this is, these blog entries show up on Google because they get page views. They’re funny. Funnier than hell, actually. They are shedding the light of truth on my reputation as a merchant of smears and lies. Other right wing bloggers have joined in the merriment and, as a result, I have been painted in the dark, ugly hues that match the tinct of my tainted soul, and I can’t help but feel this is interfering with the sales of my smear books.

Two other individuals, Blurric B. Blurson, BLUR Blurrock Rd, Blurris, UR, and Bhlurs Blurther, BLUR Blurlington Ave, Blur, Blurine, LU, have been actively involved with Mr. Blur and Mr. Blurry in defaming me. Mr. Blurson, under the pen name of BLUR, has been bragging on “Blurdler’s” Blog about writing negative reviews of my smear books that he has never purchased and only reads the online samples. And he promises to continue doing so, despite my warning that he cease and desist treating me as I treat others, the meanie! Bhlurs Blurther has been involved with me since I was epically pwn3d by his “Knot in My Blursblursin” Facebook crew in 2011 in their involvement with an effort to scam the media (and me, they’re mutually exclusive) into thinking they were trying to interfere with the gathering of petitions to recall their governor. He uses the name “Blurard B. Lurl” or Embrlurrybluriddleablurum, but he has been positively identified as Blurther by his former “Knot” cronies (who shined me on before and would never do it again! Because by God, if I could drive or lift my arms, I’d beat them to death and they know it) and by my own investigation which has misidentified him “about a hundred and forty-seven times, and it keeps gettin’ funnier every time I fail at it!!”

What I want is to be able to harass these people without consequence. I want these people to have nothing to do with me. I want them to stop telling people the truth about my books and to stop doing such a good job spreading my trashy reputation all over the Internet. I want someone to conspire with me to harass them, and to conspire to write fake positive reviews for my smear books so they will sell a few more copies and I can buy a special jar of wasabi mayonnaise to paint my taint.

What I want is, after two long years of this, is for law enforcement to take me seriously for the online threat that I am – a deranged, unbalanced, undiagnosed, unmedicated, unsupervised, undisciplined, serially adjudicated cyber-harassing online thug who cannot stop, will not stop digging into the private lives of people who would rather I just go away. Please, please, PLEASE SEND SOMEONE TO FIT ME FOR AN EXTRA-LONG-SLEEVED JACKET, a big poke of Thorazine and a ride to a nice assisted living facility where I’ll be protected from myself –
a disabled Vietnam Era veteran, a Stage IV Parkinson’s disease survivor who has pledged the proceeds of his piddling sales to the benefit of Parkinson’s disease research agencies who, once they take a close look, run like the Mississippi in flood season.

I have been tormenting these people, and others, for more than two years. Mr. Blur has had to seek two separate peace orders against me. The first he won from a judge who disagreed with me regarding what behavior constitutes harassment. The second was uncontested because I failed to check the calendar and didn’t bother to appear. But it was ALL HIS FAULT BECAUSE NOTHING IS EVER MY FAULT! I always have a lie, an excuse, a prevarication, a rationalization for my behavior and an externalized cause for why it has never turned out my way.

I have asked Blurnry County, UR, as well as Blurard County, Blurryland, Blurine County, LU, and now Blurk County, BL to investigate the activities of these people and all I get is shrugged shoulders and advice to “get off the internet and they’ll stop bothering you.” Which, oddly, is the same advice the people I torment give me. Isn’t that weird. I don’t know. Whatever. The Internet is my last connection with the outside world, and I will not allow criminals to deny me that connection. Dear God, how did old people survive before the Great Gift of the Benevolent AlGore, Peace Be Upon Him?

I put it to our elected representatives and law enforcement to look into this. Here in Maryland, we have dandy laws to protect minors from people like me. But an adult living on a meager pension who can’t take triple the butthurt he tries to dish out is out of luck. I can’t afford a lawyer, hooch is weird because I was making nearly $100k when they “forced” me to retire, and I can’t find anyone willing to sue these people on a “contingency.” Maybe it’s because I’m a “cretin” who can’t “understand” that not even the lowest, scum-sucking, bottom-dwelling “ambulance chaser” will take a case on “contingency” if that case has no “chance” of “prevailing” on the “merits.”

But, “hey,” “don’t” “these” “air quotes” “make” “me” “look” “cool,” “hip” “and” “smart?”

I need law enforcement to do its job and stop me before I dox again. I need these Internet service providers to live up to their terms of service and ban me for life. I need protection from these people who are out to destroy any chance I have at living my life without being able to harass you, should the mood strike me. They have already so poisoned Google that anyone searching my name will see all manner of hilarity. And mayonnaise.

I need an advocate to look out for my interests, because if nothing else in this letter is true, I am not capable of recognizing my interests. It’s me vs. all of them. I started this war, and now the Allies have taken Berlin and I’m alone in the bunker. I need your help. Hit. The. Freaking. Tip. Jar.

Thank you.

Parkinson Williams
Blurridge, Blurryland

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STOP CONTACTING ME, @mayberryville!

Screencaps are forever:
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Links disappear sometimes:
https://twitter.com/blitzparkinsons/status/516388601970847744

If you don’t want someone to contact you, don’t contact him.

Shorter: “Don’t start nuthin’, won’t be nuthin’.”

Learn to think around a corner, dumbass.

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AND IF YOU BELIEVE THAT, I'VE GOT A BRIDGE IN BROOKLYN FOR SALE!

I’ve been keeping my peace about this, but let’s look at the facts.

  1. William M. Schmalfeldt filed a horribly botched Answer and Counterclaim and First (and Second) Amended Counterclaim in his ill-fated, woe-begotten, doomed-from-day-one attempt to identify and maliciously prosecute me for some very vague and legally specious charges of libel and some such bullshit. Read all about it in “Cheesinus Fromundies – Intent to Sniff.”
  2. He spent all of his mayonnaise budget for the summer on postage, and was willing to dig into the penicillin and cranberry juice money to pay for subpoenas and processing fees from WordPress and Twitter to smoke me out and persecute me for authoring a genius parody that gave him Jerry Falwell levels of epic butthurt.
  3. Before he even figured out how to affect service on me, he folded like a pup tent in a hurricane. He got nothing, because he’s a cowardly, no-account, shuffling lump of weenie-meat with no guts for a fight he claimed to be spoiling for. He claims victory, yet refuses to look in my direction, when his prayer for relief of $1.500.000 (no that’s no typo – he really did try to sue for twelve bits) results two fingers raised high and proud back at him. He paid his costs, I sat back, pointing, laughing and mocking for most of a summer at no cost to myself.
  4. Continue reading “AND IF YOU BELIEVE THAT, I'VE GOT A BRIDGE IN BROOKLYN FOR SALE!”

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Now He Really Knows He Was Right About Me

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(All pictures and other material, altered or otherwise, used under Fair Use Terms of US Copyright Law, which is really just another way for me to say The Law Means What I Say It Means, And It Says I Have Carte Blanche To Steal Anything I Want, Nanner Nanner Boo Boo, So There, And The Horse You Rode In On.)

I just found out yesterday that my new bestest friend – not to be confused with my excellent friend, convicted bomber, forger, perjurer and drug dealer, who has not served his full sentence and walks free every day at risk of being returned to federal prison if he violates parole Bert Timbaland

Continue reading “Now He Really Knows He Was Right About Me”

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