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.
Thank you, Guardians of the Galaxy!
Like the mighty mathematician Isaac Newton…
Like the awesome astronomer Johannes Kepler…
I, the great gadfly, the majordomo of mirth, the lord of laughter, the duke of derision, the impresario of insult, the master of modesty, the headmaster of humility and Sultan of the smackdown, have decided to compile a list of Krendler’s Laws of the Internet.
And of course, I need YOUR help!
I will start with four obvious ones, a couple of which I have shamelessly stolen (cuz I’m shameless like that) from apocryphal sources:
1. Haters gotta hate
2. Liars gotta lie
3. All mayonnaise flows downhill toward Elkridge
4. Monkeys gotta dance
As the title says, audience participation is invited.
High levels of creativity will be rewarded. The Thinking Man’s Zombie Seal of Approval is hoping to appear multiple times in this thread.
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.
So that happened.
You know he shut down that Twitter account at 11:00 AM ET, right?
I think maybe I was successful in emulating a different writing style.
By applying Elkridge logic, there are only two possibilities:
A. I am a plagiarist, or
B. I am Bill Schmalfeldt.
So, to avoid being sued –
…wait… I can do this… Hold it together… c’mon…
Damn. I really thought I could do it.
Anyway, I’d hate to run afoul of the DMCA, so I
took it down (are you fucking kidding me? Not on his life!) I made a few changes.
You can go back and look, or not.
(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.
I have done many things in my life. I know I did them. I was there.
I don’t feel a need to brag. I don’t have to point and yell “Hey! Look what I did! Look!”
I did it. I know it. It’s done. I have moved along, as they say (if not do).
There are people out there who DO feel the need to incessantly trumpet their meager “accomplishments” every day of their lives. I don’t think these people are trying to inform anyone of how accomplished they are. I think they crave external validation. They need that pat on the head, the little hug, the “Hey, great job dealing with the luck of the draw getting on The Price Is Right, winning a sewing machine and some much-needed mouthwash on a blind guess, and then going 0-for-12 in the one game that you could have won with a tiny bit of actual thought.”
People like this are begging to be propped up, to be told they matter, to be told their failures are actually successes.
(Hint: in a world where anyone can publish a book, it’s not until one counts the cost in time and effort and measures the return on that investment that one determines whether work has turned a profit. But if you think your time and effort has no value, who am I to judge your calculation of profit?)
Why? Who needs to be told they’re not an abject failure? Who needs constant validation so desperately?
Weak people. Uncertain people. Inadequate people.
But hey – it takes all kinds to make up a world.