Well, I Think We Can Guess When His Worst Day As A Writer Was

We know DUMBFUCK lies. SJWs always lie.

He recently said on Twitter:
CaptureWell, let’s test that, shall we?

Yesterday, a filing appeared on PACER in the Hoge v. Kimberlin et al lawsuit. DUMBFUCK filed a reply in support of his motion to dismiss. It is packed to the gills with his usual idiocy, but Mr. Better-Writer-Than-You-On-My-Worst-Days was having a worse worst day than average when he wrote that pleading. Behold the clubhouse leader for champion run-on sentence of the New Millenium:

Regarding Hoge’s 367 charges presented to a Carroll County Court Commissioner, one of which resulted in a trial in which Schmalfeldt was acquitted, his two successful peace orders – the first obtained by misrepresenting how easy it is to block a person on Twitter, the second obtained when Hoge shook hands with Schmalfeldt on August 14, 2014 and told him he would not follow through on a peace order request, although he did and Schmalfeldt was not in court to challenge him — his attempts to have Schmalfeldt show cause for why he should not be found in Contempt of Court, his introduction into evidence in Carroll County Circuit Court of a letter that Schmalfeldt swears under penalty of perjury he did not write, sign, stamp or deliver to Hoge as proof of Schmalfeldt’s contempt of court, his failed attempts to have peace orders established against Schmalfeldt in Howard and Carroll County, his failed attempts to have Schmalfeldt charged with criminal counts in Howard County, and the fact that he presented a total of 367 charges to the Carroll County Court Commissioner only to have 366 of them dropped by the Carroll County State’s Attorney, Schmalfeldt will bow to the Court’s judgment as to whether or not Hoge should be declared a vexatious litigant and be ordered to finally, at long last, after four years of unrelenting harassment, leave Schmalfeldt alone to live out his remaining days in peace and quiet without the constant fear of legal persecution from a man whom he has never harmed in any tangible fashion.

I hope you didn’t read that twice. No one can afford to kill that many brain cells. In fact, I truly hope you made it here without reading it at all.

That is a two-hundred-fifty-nine word run-on sentence. Double spaced and indented, it would be a full page. For some writers, that level of output equals a good day’s effort. For the writer responsible for this turd, it equals a wasted roll of Charmin.

But I’m going to fix it. Because someone is a better writer on his worst day than someone else on his best – it’s only the roles that are reversed.

To begin with, I’m going to back up a bit and include the previous paragraph, because it’s all part of the same argument. GS-13 Writer-Editor, 30 Years Experience Sucking, made a stunning punctuation/usage error that practically blew the whole thing up. But anyway, I digress.

To business!

WHEREFORE, since

  1. the Plaintiff’s allegations are baseless and fail to establish that this Court has jurisdiction over Defendant Schmalfeldt;
  2. as Plaintiff’s complaint fails to allege any wrongdoing by Schmalfeldt before his August 22, 2015 move to Wisconsin, except the expression of an opinion in the comment section of a website;
  3. he has not established the necessary elements to allege Schmalfeldt took part in any conspiracy;
  4. nor has he proven or even seriously alleged any “continuing course of conduct.”

Therefore, Plaintiff has failed to establish under CJ §§ 6-102 or 6-103 that this court may exercise personal jurisdiction over the defendant and hale him into this Maryland court from half a country away.

Defendant Schmalfeldt asks this honorable court to dismiss the Plaintiff’s complaint with prejudice as concerns Mr. Schmalfeldt.

Further, with respect to

  1. 367 charges of violation of a Peace Order presented to a Carroll County Court Commissioner, one of which resulted in an acquittal at trial;
  2. two separate Peace Orders – one obtained by misrepresenting how easy it is to block a person on Twitter, and second obtained after Hoge shook hands with Schmalfeldt on August 14, 2014, told him he would not follow through on a peace order request, and did so anyway, while Schmalfeldt was not in court to challenge him;
  3. Plaintiff’s efforts to have Schmalfeldt show cause for why he should not be found in Contempt of Court;
  4. Plaintiff’s introduction into evidence in Carroll County Circuit Court of a letter that Schmalfeldt swears under penalty of perjury he did not write, sign, stamp or deliver to Hoge as proof of Schmalfeldt’s contempt of court;
  5. Plaintiff’s attempts to have peace orders granted against Schmalfeldt in Howard and Carroll County;
  6. Plaintiff’s efforts to have Schmalfeldt charged with criminal counts in Howard County; and finally
  7. the fact that Plaintiff presented a total of 367 charges to the Carroll County Court Commissioner only to have 366 of them dropped by the Carroll County State’s Attorney;

Schmalfeldt defers to the Court on the question of whether Plaintiff should be declared a vexatious litigant and be ordered to

  1. finally,
  2. at long last,
  3. after four years of unrelenting harassment,

leave Schmalfeldt alone to live out his remaining days

  1. in peace
  2. and quiet
  3. without the constant fear of legal persecution from a man whom he has never harmed in any tangible fashion.

Now, this is correct English.

Notice I do not say that it makes sense. As I said before, Bill Schmalfeldt lies. All I did here was rearrange his lies into a grammatically correct, properly punctuated, generally readable form.

It’s still a tall stack of bullshit.

Now, if I, crappy writer that I am, were to rewrite the same passage and inject a better than average dose of truth into it, it would look something like this:

WHEREFORE, since

  • Schmalfeldt feels Hoge’s allegations are baseless and he has not established to Schmalfeldt’s undefined standard of proof that this Court has jurisdiction over Defendant Schmalfeldt, but offers no evidence to support such a conclusion, and
  • as Schmalfeldt also feels the original complaint fails to allege in sufficient detail the wrongdoing committed by Schmalfeldt before his August 22, 2015 escape to Wisconsin, except for making a defamatory statement in the comment section of a website, yet still offers neither evidence nor legal citation to support his position, and
  • Mr. Hoge has established the necessary elements to allege Schmalfeldt took part in a conspiracy, even though Schmalfeldt hates to admit it, and
  • Mr. Hoge has alleged a “continuing course of conduct,”

therefore outlining a set of well-pleaded facts under CJ §§ 6-102 and/or 6-103 establishing that this court has general personal jurisdiction over the defendant and may hale him halfway across the country into a Maryland court;

Nonetheless (one word) Defendant Schmalfeldt asks this honorable court to dismiss the Plaintiff’s complaint as regarding Mr. Schmalfeldt, with prejudice, because Mr. Schmalfeldt is an idiot pro se who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Further,

  1. after being charged 367 times with violating a valid Peace Order in Maryland by making unwanted contact with Plaintiff, all but one of which was dismissed at the request of Plaintiff, and
  2. after being tried and acquitted on one charge even though Schmalfeldt attempted to plead guilty by reason of Diminished Mental Capacity, and
  3. after getting one Peace Order by lying to a doddering old fool of a judge, who Mr. Schmalfeldt otherwise totally respects, about how the Twitter works, and
  4. after getting a second Peace Order because I was too stupid to check the docket and show up at the hearing; and
  5. after being ordered to show cause why he should not be found in Contempt of Court, and
  6. after the introduction into evidence, as proof of Schmalfeldt’s contempt of court, a letter from Defendant Schmalfeldt that he swears under penalty of perjury he does not remember writing, signing, stamping or mailing to Hoge; and
  7. after other attempts by Plaintiff to acquire Peace Orders to prevent defendant Schmalfeldt from making unwanted contact with him; and
  8. after that failed, attempting to seek criminal harassment charges against Schmalfeldt in Howard County; and
  9. finally – not to mention redundantly – after noting the 367 complaints that Plaintiff presented to the Carroll County Court Commissioner, all over which were converted to criminal charges by the Carroll County State’s Attorney but 366 of them were nolle prossed at the mistakenly compassionate request of the Plaintiff;

Defendant Schmalfeldt will bow to the Court’s judgment as to whether or not Schmalfeldt should be ordered to surrender any and all devices in his possession capable of interacting with the Internet, should be required to undergo an extended mental health evaluation at the nearest state-approved facility, should be declared a vexatious and incompetent pro se and ordered to finally, at long last, after more than a decade of unrelenting bullying of anyone who has ever made him look stupid everyone, everywhere, forever, be locked into a room with a chamberpot, an IV drip of Johnnie Walker Red and Haldol, a television permanently tuned to Fox News, and a supply of paper, and all the blue and yellow crayons he needs to draw all the Cub Scouts he wants. Oh, and an unlimited supply of Kleenex.

If we were interested in truth over DUMBFUCKERY.

Sometimes truth is more entertaining than DUMBFUCKERY.  Not always.

Just sometimes.

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Here's A Novel Idea…

Maybe…

(no, never mind!)

Perhaps…

(calm yourself…I can already tell you’re about to spout nonsense)

Shut up, you.  Listen.  Could it be possible…

(No.  Whatever it is, it can’t be possible.  Put it out of your mind right now.)

No, really.  Give it a chance…

(I swear! You get like this and I just want to kick you right in the shin.)

Dammit, will you quiet down for just one second?

(I will not!  I’ve been around long enough to know when the crazy talk is about to start…)

See, that’s where you’re wrong! This time it’s ANTI-crazy talk!

(I don’t care what it is, you’re just going to make a fo– what?)

I said it’s ANTI-crazy talk.

(Anti-crazy talk?  Well, that’s different…)

Shut up, Vinnie!

(Try and make me!)

I’ve got Lithium and I’m not afraid to use it! 

(Okay.)

 

Thank you.  Now.  As I was saying, could it be possible…maybe…perhaps…if you think about it…that the axis of the world doesn’t pass through the top of a DUMBFUCK’S empty head —

(If it did, is there a chance it could die from the resulting trauma?)

It’s a metaphor, idiot.  Shut up.

(Okay.)

and that the rules that govern the world and the Federal Court in the Eastern District of Wisconsin are not what it says they are?

(SEE?  Crazy talk!  What did I tell you?)

LITHIUM!!!

(Okay.)

And maybe a DUMBFUCK could get with the fucking program and figure how it’s actually supposed to affect service so we could move on to the serious pointage and laughery and mockification and watching it try to pull its metaphorical schlong out of the metaphorical whiskey bottle?

(Hey, you know, that actually sounds like FUN!  I mean the watching part not the dick-in-a-bottle thing.  Definitely not fun.)

Agreed.

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100 Word Challenge

She woke slowly, disentangling from damp sheets.  The bed was empty.  How did she get home last night?

Then the smell hit her. She moaned, crawled out, got to her feet. Blouse, skirt, panties, bra. No shoes. Oh, God, she thought. That pungent aroma meant only one thing.

One step and the room swam.  She lurched to the doorway, held on.  Her belly heaved, that ugly taste.  She limped toward the kitchen, helped along by the lovely wall.

She rounded the corner, searching after the smell.  On the counter, her shoes. A note: name, phone number.

Best of all, coffee.

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100 Word Challenge

She lunged forward through her exhaustion. Her captors’ voices faded. Bess followed the path only she recognized–downed tree, along a creek, through boulders–forest scents filled her nose.  Light was fading. Bess knew the choices darkness offered: succeed or surrender. She raced on.

A high cliff beckoned. Nowhere to turn. Confused, she turned back. The hunters close behind. Desperate, she looked over the edge.

She saw him. Filthy, bleeding, leg horribly twisted.  Alive? Bess moaned, stretching forward, reaching, but it was futile. The hunters had her now.

“Help me,” the found boy said.

Bess leaped free and barked.

Victory.

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The Death of the Hired Man

Just a few moments ago, a quote resurfaced from the depths of memory.  Google teased out the source, the above-titled poem by Robert Frost.  I re-read it for the first time in many years.

How apt it is.  Here it is, with the quote in bold print.

Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. ‘Silas is back.’
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. ‘Be kind,’ she said.
She took the market things from Warren’s arms
And set them on the porch, then drew him down
To sit beside her on the wooden steps.

‘When was I ever anything but kind to him?
But I’ll not have the fellow back,’ he said.
‘I told him so last haying, didn’t I?
If he left then, I said, that ended it.
What good is he? Who else will harbor him
At his age for the little he can do?
What help he is there’s no depending on.
Off he goes always when I need him most.
He thinks he ought to earn a little pay,
Enough at least to buy tobacco with,
So he won’t have to beg and be beholden.
“All right,” I say, “I can’t afford to pay
Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.”
“Someone else can.” “Then someone else will have to.”
I shouldn’t mind his bettering himself
If that was what it was. You can be certain,
When he begins like that, there’s someone at him
Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,—
In haying time, when any help is scarce.
In winter he comes back to us. I’m done.’

‘Sh! not so loud: he’ll hear you,’ Mary said.

‘I want him to: he’ll have to soon or late.’

‘He’s worn out. He’s asleep beside the stove.
When I came up from Rowe’s I found him here,
Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep,
A miserable sight, and frightening, too—
You needn’t smile—I didn’t recognize him—
I wasn’t looking for him—and he’s changed.
Wait till you see.’

‘Where did you say he’d been?’

‘He didn’t say. I dragged him to the house,
And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke.
I tried to make him talk about his travels.
Nothing would do: he just kept nodding off.’

‘What did he say? Did he say anything?’

‘But little.’

‘Anything? Mary, confess
He said he’d come to ditch the meadow for me.’

‘Warren!’

‘But did he? I just want to know.’

‘Of course he did. What would you have him say?
Surely you wouldn’t grudge the poor old man
Some humble way to save his self-respect.
He added, if you really care to know,
He meant to clear the upper pasture, too.
That sounds like something you have heard before?
Warren, I wish you could have heard the way
He jumbled everything. I stopped to look
Two or three times—he made me feel so queer—
To see if he was talking in his sleep.
He ran on Harold Wilson—you remember—
The boy you had in haying four years since.
He’s finished school, and teaching in his college.
Silas declares you’ll have to get him back.
He says they two will make a team for work:
Between them they will lay this farm as smooth!
The way he mixed that in with other things.
He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft
On education—you know how they fought
All through July under the blazing sun,
Silas up on the cart to build the load,
Harold along beside to pitch it on.’

‘Yes, I took care to keep well out of earshot.’

‘Well, those days trouble Silas like a dream.
You wouldn’t think they would. How some things linger!
Harold’s young college boy’s assurance piqued him.
After so many years he still keeps finding
Good arguments he sees he might have used.
I sympathize. I know just how it feels
To think of the right thing to say too late.
Harold’s associated in his mind with Latin.
He asked me what I thought of Harold’s saying
He studied Latin like the violin
Because he liked it—that an argument!
He said he couldn’t make the boy believe
He could find water with a hazel prong—
Which showed how much good school had ever done him.
He wanted to go over that. But most of all
He thinks if he could have another chance
To teach him how to build a load of hay—’

‘I know, that’s Silas’ one accomplishment.
He bundles every forkful in its place,
And tags and numbers it for future reference,
So he can find and easily dislodge it
In the unloading. Silas does that well.
He takes it out in bunches like big birds’ nests.
You never see him standing on the hay
He’s trying to lift, straining to lift himself.’

‘He thinks if he could teach him that, he’d be
Some good perhaps to someone in the world.
He hates to see a boy the fool of books.
Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk,
And nothing to look backward to with pride,
And nothing to look forward to with hope,
So now and never any different.’

Part of a moon was falling down the west,
Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills.
Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw it
And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand
Among the harp-like morning-glory strings,
Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves,
As if she played unheard some tenderness
That wrought on him beside her in the night.
‘Warren,’ she said, ‘he has come home to die:
You needn’t be afraid he’ll leave you this time.’

‘Home,’ he mocked gently.

‘Yes, what else but home?
It all depends on what you mean by home.
Of course he’s nothing to us, any more
Than was the hound that came a stranger to us
Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail.’

Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.

‘I should have called it
Something you somehow haven’t to deserve.’

Warren leaned out and took a step or two,
Picked up a little stick, and brought it back
And broke it in his hand and tossed it by.
‘Silas has better claim on us you think
Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles
As the road winds would bring him to his door.
Silas has walked that far no doubt today.
Why didn’t he go there? His brother’s rich,
A somebody—director in the bank.’

‘He never told us that.’

‘We know it though.’

‘I think his brother ought to help, of course.
I’ll see to that if there is need. He ought of right
To take him in, and might be willing to—
He may be better than appearances.
But have some pity on Silas. Do you think
If he’d had any pride in claiming kin
Or anything he looked for from his brother,
He’d keep so still about him all this time?’

‘I wonder what’s between them.’

‘I can tell you.
Silas is what he is—we wouldn’t mind him—
But just the kind that kinsfolk can’t abide.
He never did a thing so very bad.
He don’t know why he isn’t quite as good
As anyone. Worthless though he is,
He won’t be made ashamed to please his brother.’

‘I can’t think Si ever hurt anyone.’

‘No, but he hurt my heart the way he lay
And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back.
He wouldn’t let me put him on the lounge.
You must go in and see what you can do.
I made the bed up for him there tonight.
You’ll be surprised at him—how much he’s broken.
His working days are done; I’m sure of it.’

‘I’d not be in a hurry to say that.’

‘I haven’t been. Go, look, see for yourself.
But, Warren, please remember how it is:
He’s come to help you ditch the meadow.
He has a plan. You mustn’t laugh at him.
He may not speak of it, and then he may.
I’ll sit and see if that small sailing cloud
Will hit or miss the moon.’

It hit the moon.
Then there were three there, making a dim row,
The moon, the little silver cloud, and she.

Warren returned—too soon, it seemed to her,
Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited.

‘Warren,’ she questioned.
‘Dead,’ was all he answered.

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Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

Dave Barry can write about colonoscopies and be entertaining because Dave Barry is funny.

DUMBFUCKS cannot write about colonoscopies because DUMBFUCKS are neither entertaining nor funny.  At least, not in ways that they intend to be.

Another difference between Dave Barry and a DUMBFUCK is that one of these has a working knowledge of appropriate social boundaries…

AND THE USE OF VISUAL AIDS!

Oh, look!  FAIR USE!

 

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Yeah, Charlie..deus ex machina, Man!  What About It?

 

Creative Writing 101, Lesson 4:

If the only device you can think of is a deus ex machina, then you should admit that you have no storytelling talent, and you would be better off driving a truck or flipping burgers.  Under no circumstances should you consider either a career or a pretend career (hobby) involving anything connected to a keyboard.  It will bring only suffering and erectile dysfunction into your life.

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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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"Imply" vs. "Infer"

For those of us fascinated with the written word, Twitter and its 140 character limit presents serious challenges. Users often need to use multiple messages to be clear in conversation or debate. Sometimes they don’t manage it very well. For example:
/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/d20/67462000/files/2015/01/img_4609.png

There’s nothing clear about it. With this single message, what is being said?

From an author’s viewpoint, what is being implied?

@The stupid(ity of these people). It BURRRNNNNNSSSS (them)! Yes(, you fools). (Of course you would think) I created the algorithm at WordPress AND ReverbNation (because you are idiots). SARC It was ALL ME! /SARC #dopes

This could be the intent of the author sending this tweet.

But it may not be the message received by the reader.

The difference between what an author wishes to say and what the audience understands is the difference between implication and inference. What might a reader infer from the same message?

The beautiful thing about that answer is that it is bounded by nothing at all.

Except the reader’s imagination.

The stupid(ity leaking out of my brain). It BURRRNNNNNSSSS (ME)! Yes(, indeed). (In my spare time, and for no pay, which is quite important to me, because I’m dirt poor and everyone knows it,) I created the algorithm at WordPress AND ReverbNation. (Because I’m a GENIUS!!) It was ALL ME! You #dopes

What is the truth? Probably somewhere in between. But it’s so easy to vomit up a 140 character message that really doesn’t mean what you think means.

Interpretation can be SO subjective.

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Comedy vs. Not Comedy

Telling stories (and doing it poorly) fantasizing about misfortunes befalling one’s enemies is not comedy.

If it makes the author laugh, that’s one thing. Given our fallen nature, I believe such fantasies are far more common than any of us would care to admit. But to think that sharing such thoughts would make an audience LAUGH is beyond depraved.

On the other hand, an author would be well within the bounds of propriety to use such disturbing thoughts as fodder for a psychological thriller about a serial killer or an international terrorist plot?

Not funny. Not even a little bit funny. But in the proper context, it could be a helluva fun beach read.

Hmm…

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