Your one-stop shop for scraped web content guaranteed to make the Cabin Boy (who does this ON PURPOSE) look like a complete jackass.
The Tub’o’shit is lying to his law enforcement pals about the tub’o’shit he received!
Quoting: “I am afraid of what I’m going to get in the mail next. I received this last Friday and the shock so affected my Parkinson’s disease symptoms, I lost my balance and bashed my face of the living room floor.”
This is not just a lie, it’s a terrible lie, told by a terrible liar. A proven liar.
Let me show you. My sources are unassailable.
Now, right about midday, suddenly it’s Horseshit Saturday.
Faceplant Friday before Horseshit Saturday.
But like always, the truth doesn’t make Tub’o look like ENOUGH of a victim. So he needs to enhance his tale of woe. Like always.
Such a narcissist. A lying narcissist. A proven, terrible, lying, narcissist with mayonnaise breath.
If you swear to something under oath, and sign your name to it, even if you do it under false pretense and for retaliatory purposes, like this:
then you are quite bound by your oath to behave as though you believe that what you have sworn is true. To do otherwise provides both indication and evidence that you may knowingly have provided false information.
Schmalfeldt is prohibited by court order from communicating to or about Grady in any forum or social media.
Schmalfeldt doesn’t need Hoge to make sure of anything. Schmalfeldt is sure. Because…SCHMALFELDT. Sure enough to swear an oath under penalty of perjury (up to $1000 fine, up to 90 days imprisonment, or both) that Grady is me, and I am Grady.
So here he is, ordered by the court not to write about Grady, and bound legally by his own sworn oath not to write about Krendler, because HE SAYS I AM GRADY.
Stupid people call this an “Oh, Fuck! What Have I Done?” moment.
Everyone else calls it a “What A Cute Little Corner You’ve Painted Yourself Into!” moment.
I just call it FUN.
I have it on “competent authority” that Grady is perfectly willing, as he has demonstrated by his recent trip to Maryland, to take Schmalfeldt at his word and treat any communication toward or about me as CONSISTENT WITH HIS SWORN OATH to be a communication toward or about GRADY, and a violation of the Stalking No Contact Order.
And reported accordingly. Every single time.
Back in August, I wrote:
This is what it means to have friends. You attack one, you attack us all. The enemies you have made…are EVERYWHERE.
Then, just last month, after filing a second petition for a Peace Order (a CHICKENSHIT remedy, he calls it, now that he has CHICKENED OUT on both of them), he summed up his post announcing that filing with this oft-repeated bit of false bravado:
See? You wanted to fuck, Patrick. So? Let’s fuck.
I guess he did not take the lesson to heart about attacking people with friends. Which is sort of strange for all of his past braggadocio about going to peoples’ houses backed up by his brothers to beat people up that he wasn’t sure he could take man to man (or was it “fed to fed?” *snerk*).
In any case it sure looks like someone on the side of Team Lickspittle has had some fun at his expense. It was as exquisitely hilarious as it was vulgar and tasteless. I wish I knew who did it; I’d find a liquor store near them and send a gift card. It was both inspired and inspiring.
And hopefully, this time the lesson will stick: if you ask someone if they want to fuck, don’t be so stunned when the answer is an unexpected and surprising “YES” from a shocking direction.
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.
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.
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???
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.)
I have this
friend/ acquaintance/ person I know/ sorta dickish person I’ve never met/total asshole in my life who suffers from a perfidious and easily exacerbated neurological disorder.
I’ve been scouring the web for many weeks looking for a truly top-notch independent website/blog with news and advocacy information that might help him, run by a person with a truly sterling reputation, but I’m really not having any luck.
All I seem to come up with are websites selling absolutely atrocious, really vomit-inducing audio which purports to be comedy. I don’t know what sane person would consider this stuff funny, but I guess even people who are that far gone need a laugh too, I guess. Or not.
Anyway, if someone out there (I’m looking at you, Rick Buchanan) could point me at a cool, well-designed and informative website like that, I’d really appreciate it.
I wonder what MoveOn will do when someone whispers in their little ears an explanation of how Obamacare became law.
Pro tip: you won’t find it in a Schoolhouse Rock singalong.