Oh, How Thweet!

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Thome limp-writhted, minthing weathel thinkth I’m thcaaaaared of him becauthe he’th afraid to tell people about hith truetht, betht thelf!
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Becauthe NOBODY loveth homothexthualth like he loveth homothexthualth!

It’th okay, really, DUMBFUCK.  Like I’ve thaid before, tell the truth – no one with think any leth of you, becauthe really, no one could.

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A Reminder of How Wars End

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Every time.

EVERY. TIME.

This terrorist-jock-sniffing DUMBFUCK files a lawsuit, an instant loser, apparent to any reasonable observer.

He crows about owning cars, houses, ALL THE THINGS!!!

And the defendants simply play by the rules defined rather than the rules he wants.

And he stomps his jimmies.

Every time.

EVERY. TIME.

And when the moment comes around, as it always does, when he can no longer deny the reality of his failure and he realizes that he must find that impossible path of escape from his own foolishness…

Someone tells him how.

Pay. Apologize. Change.

It’s the only way.

And he says, “They want me to eat a big bowl of shit.”

Yes.  Exactly.

It’s his own shit.  He built that.  Of course he should eat it.  He probably won’t change his ways even if he did, but if he doesn’t there’s no possible way.

And he says no.

Every time.

EVERY. TIME.

“I won’t change until you leave me alone,” he says. “I’m just going to keep stalking toddlers and threatening families and collecting restraining orders until you stop saying mean things about me. Because journalism.”

But we tried that.  More than once.  He doesn’t make threats, he makes promises.  Sometimes he even signs a contract.

And then he breaks those promises.  Because

PARKINSONS! EXECUTIVE FUNCTION! IMPULSE CONTROL! MAYONNAISE!

There’s a reason that everyone here knows that his harassment of others will not end until he can no longer interact with the internet.

He’s an Internet Crack Whore.  The Amy Winehouse of the World Wide Web, only with no discernible talent. (disclaimer: Joke. Insult. Protected Speech. Fuck off.)

As the sign says, If you keep doing what you’ve always done, you’ll keep getting what you’ve always got.

Every time.

EVERY. TIME.

He doesn’t get that no one is afraid of him.

He doesn’t get that in his new situation, he has a lot more to lose than any of his perceived adversaries, and a lot more talent arrayed against him to make it happen.

A LOT MORE.

If the alternative to losing everything involves parting with some money and some dignity that he never had to begin with, plus a figurative appointment with a bowl and spoon, well…

He should take his own advice:

“If you have to eat shit, best not to nibble. Bite, chew, swallow, repeat. It goes quicker.”

And the nice thing is he doesn’t even have to wash the spoon first.


TO THE DEFENSE TEAM: DUMBFUCK LACKS THE RESOURCES TO WIN AND THE SELF-AWARENESS TO SURRENDER. SO BE IT. PLEASE DON’T LET HIM ESCAPE THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS BAD ACTS THIS TIME.

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Who The Hell Is “Sarah Pallmer?”

And more importantly, where can I get one of those cool uniforms you have to wear for blustering?

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No, seriously – did you INTEND to make 7 mistakes in just 140 characters, Mr. GS-13? (I deduce that you meant the first word to be ALLCAPS, or it would be 8 mistakes, DUMBFUCK.)

Either wait for the hangover to pass or pour a little hair of the dog before you tweet.

Now go sniff a turd, toddlerstalker.

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Good Afternoon, DUMBFUCK!

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Asked and answered, pro se DUMBFUCK.

Collette Stranahan.

Next question.

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Why Am I So Quiet Today?

…here where DUMBFUCK can see?

He thinks he’s crowing today.  He sent this email to some folks at a company called CBRE.

He probably sent it to all the top floor management, virtually guaranteeing it will get circular filed by all the Executive Admins and they’ll all have a good laugh in the cafeteria at lunch.

I notice that he carefully blocked out the name of the person he was talking about, so it’s very hard to tell who he’s faildoxing today.

Letterz1

Really hard.

LEtterz2

I mean, who would ever be able to guess?

Letterz3

Practically impossible to figure it out!Letterz4

DUMBFUCK…why do you even bother?  And more to the point, how do you manage?  You are the lovechild of Wile E. Coyote and every Tannen male from the Back To The Future trilogy – you run confidently off the nearest cliff, hang there triumphantly for five seconds, and fall straight down into a steaming pile of fresh Slovenian horse manure!

A friend of mine commented on your latest exploit earlier. He said, “Good Lord, is he dumb.”

I said, “Yeah…but FUN to watch!”

I’ll bet in high school your classmates voted you “Most Likely to Run Away and Join The Circus and Mysteriously Vanish Never To Be Seen Again, or Join the Navy Because No One Will Hire Him In This Town.”

But I digress…

Why am I so quiet today?

Isn’t it obvious, DUMBFUCK?

Because it makes you DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!

monkey_dance

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Well, Think About It In Geological Time Scales

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About as long as it takes for a a pebble to fall from the lip of the Grand Canyon to the bottom.

On the other hand, how long will it take to backtrace that photo to me?

The Earth will burn to a cinder first.

Please, feel free to hold your breath.

It’s a lot of fun watching other people make you dance!

You have no idea the number and quality of the netizens whom you have pissed off in your cyber-travels, Gulliver.

And you want to know something even funnier?

Neither do I!

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DUMBFUCK Don’t Hafta Remember EVERYTHING…

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…but DUMBFUCK really ought to work on remembering IMPORTANT things…

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Watch me get all shriveled now!

Look what you’ve done!  Oh, I’m melting, melting! Ohhhh, What a world…what a world…

Sorry for mixing my opium-fueled fairy tales, y’all…

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ECF 24 – Motion to Supplement on PACER

There’s also a Motion for Summary Judgment, which seems a little premature, but then I hear that’s always been a problem for DUMBFUCK…

There may be a few…uh…transcription errors! Yeah!  in this version of the pleading.

Whoops.

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The Big Red Button

imageReminding DUMBFUCK of what a cowardly Gamma do-nothing he has been his entire life is just about the easiest push on his vast array of emo reactionary buttons.

There are few things more satisfying than the weak reaction you know is coming from a crazed little weasel who has never risen a single morning in his life without the fear that Mommy will once more burst into the room with clothespins to snap onto his weenie.

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What?

You mean the lovely and talented Cindy hasn’t come dashing to your door with a new DECLARATION to include in your next example of legal rhetorical mastery?

I’m shocked – SHOCKED!!

Dance back into your bottle, shitsniffer.

You’re drinking Blackbush tonight, right, in honor of the holiday?

You know what that was?

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