Do We Have A Wager?

So, the latest masturb-piece out of Elkridge weighs in at 272 pages.

Bally’s Las Vegas Sports Book he’s set the over/under on original content at 48 pages.

The under is calling me. Any takers?


Keep a Happy Ass

Hygiene is more important today than ever. With so many people working in close quarters, one cannot take the risk of reaching into the back of one’s Depends to dig at the nasty, filthy, disease-ridden remnants of Schmalfeldt clinging parasitically to your ass.

That’s why it’s vital that every time you visit the bathroom to expel Schmilfaldt, you do the necessary paper work to wipe out every last stinky bit of Schamlfoldt that might want to take up residence close to your happy ass.

But not too much paperwork, because even though it is important to keep your ass clean, your ass is also delicate. If eliminating Shmolfladt is unpleasant and sticky, you may find yourself having to wipe more than twice, or even using a big corncob to scrape the last of the vile Scolmflodt away. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you insert the cob into your ass! While Schmilflodt is regularly entertained by such shenanigans, there are few quicker ways to irritate your ass than sticking foreign objects into the exit in search of more Shuchmalfaldt. Schlimlfasdt will always reappear on its own eventually. There is no need to go digging for it.

Wet wipes can be handy in clearing away all traces of Schmokfladt from his favorite hangout near all the assholes. Try to avoid the type with lotions because they too can cause a pain in your ass, but if it means getting rid of all the Schmucklfielt that sticks to you, a little ass pain is probably worth it. Your results may vary.

Sometimes, in very extreme cases, you may be stuck with extra-nasty Scumfelt all over your ass. In such cases, it’s best to jump in the shower to wash away the vile stuff that won’t depart any other way. No need for soap, because plenty of clean hot water will melt away that Shmellfludt like the Wicked Witch of the West, leaving your ass clean and fresh until the next unfortunate onslaught of Schmacklfledt.



It has been previously reported in this space that a citizen of one of Baltimore’s southwestern suburbs had been wandering the streets at night to escape her smelly and disgusting spouse.

New information has come to light recently which dramatically alters the tenor of that previous reporting. Unnamed sources now tell the Thinking Man’s Zombie that there is a greater, more specific purpose to these dark night excursions.

Apparently, a certain trailer-dwelling, tubed-meat-loving troll had discovered a new and tasty condiment for his favorite snack. Hardly a new trend in America, the unnamed cyberthug discovered an affinity for cheese as well as mayonnaise on his tubed meat.

But, where most folks prefer fresh cheddar or American slices (sometimes a spicy nacho blend), this troll discovered a very special dairy delicacy, rare and especially difficult to procure in the United States.

Sometimes colloquially referred to as the Australian special, this cheese is produced in very small batches in extremely warm, moist, dark conditions. While this cheese is neither native to Australia, nor does it enjoy a special fame there, the cheese is so named because of the common label of that continent as “The Land Down Under.” The actual name of the rare condiment the wandering citizen roams the streets collecting to satisfy her spouse’s most peculiar tubed-meat cravings, is Fromunda Cheese.

The Thinking Man’s Zombie sincerely regrets the error.


These Will Be Days Well Spent…

Apparently the goal is to spend his remaining days on this Earth calling a fictional character a butthole.

That sounds completely sane, yeah.

Doesn’t sound like fun.

But mocking the hell out of it? BIG. BIG. FUN.

And really – AGAIN with “the butt stuff?” Does the disease wipe out ALL original thought, too, or is it just that, like all demons, he only knows a few simple tricks?

Comments open for third options…



We Didn't Start the Fire

Oh, dear. A fight. A punch has been thrown. And of course, the Fuhrer of Footlongs, the Marshall of Mayonnaise, didn’t throw it!

He would never do that. He never throws the first punch. He said so. And we know he never lies.

Apparently, calling the Walking Wiener a “cyberthug” constitutes a punch.

On Friday.

On Friday, punch thrown, fight started! Q.E.D.


I realize I once told the old man to get a mallet, head for the nearest beach, and pound all that sand up his ass. What I didn’t know is that he missed and filled his vagina instead.

All worked up over being referred to as what he is. Boo hoo hoo.

But he doesn’t understand what’s happening. After a settlement was reached on the 14th, WJJ Hoge did indeed ask his readers, a loyal bunch if nothing else,

I recommend that Bill Schmalfeldt be given the opportunity to make the changes in his Internet presence that he described to me. He will probably be more successful in doing so if folks don’t joggle his elbow. Each person is free to speak, largely limited by their conscience and a few rules, but it may be best to give him some space for a few days to see how he does.

My feeling was very much the same. Up to a point. As a sign of good faith, I changed my Twitter avatar and stopped posting here. A show of good faith is one thing. But I am not a fool. I know the brand of monster we’re dealing with.


I was ready and willing to leave him alone. In fact, I did.

And then this happened:




“…or he can sell his blog.”

That quote was his next tweet, and it didn’t include my handle. He’s taken his account private again. A great way to promote his book, yeah?

Did he think I wasn’t paying attention? “Trust…but verify.”

I’m always watching. But, in good faith, in the interest of “not jostling his elbow,” I stayed my hand. I kept my peace.

On Wednesday. In good faith, I remained quiet. “Nary a peep from the boy,” said the Mooky button pusher. “Looks as though Krendler has gone private at least on Twitter,” said the silver-haired cartoon button pusher.

Yes. For four months now, dim cartoon girl.


Speaking of focus, Wednesday comes before Friday, right?

Ok. Just checking.

See, on Wednesday, TWO DAYS BEFORE he was called a “cyberthug,” the cyberthug was letting his followers know that he was creating a new Ktrl-C/Ktrl-V masterpiece featuring yours truly.

Who gives a bright blue fuck what he’s going to do? Nobody’s going to read his lies but him. If it salves his microscopic black heart to fabulize his pathetic existence for an audience of zero, who am I to stop him from doing so?

Or care?

A “true” (read “bullshit”) story featuring a fictional kharacter kalled Krendler kompletely kicking his keister over a kopyright kase?

I am a character. As I said before, HE DOES NOT KNOW WHO I AM.

Oh, but he desperately wanted to, didn’t he? Oh yes, he did:


This is something, you understand, that was sufficiently on his mind to send to me, where it remains in Moderation Purgatory (still got an outstanding question waiting for an answer), on INDEPENDENCE DAY.

But now, see, he just wants to tell the tale. He just wants the truth (read “bullshit”) out there. He no longer cares who I am!

I’m nobody.

Or am I?

Because this fight, which started Friday, was prefaced on Wednesday by this comment, which also sits in my moderation queue:


Does that sound like a CHALLENGE?


And thank God for that. Because



So, howzat for a gut punch, you – what’s that phrase you like so much? Oh yes – you cum gargling fuckwit?

Do you understand now, you lonely, twisted old control freak? This is what it means to have friends. You attack one, you attack us all. The enemies you have made (a/k/a the answer to the outstanding question) are EVERYWHERE. When you say “mind your own business & go back to your knitting,” we respond with hearty laugh and an even more hearty “Fuck you.”

And we always will. So get comfortable. And enjoy your websites. I do.

UPDATE – He has spoken. From the greasy, verminous, cockroach-infested garbage bins deep in the fetid, stinking bowels of cyberspace (conveniently located in a trailer park in Elkridge, MD), he left a couple small piles in Moderation Purgatory. Neither is an answer to the outstanding question, and thus both are as irrelevant and as unworthy of publication as the rest of his simian keyboard-smashings.


The Time Has Come…and Gone

Back on August 7th of this year, Wee Willy the Mook made the following prediction:


I predict (and I’m more often right than not) that this is going to be the swiftest defamation civil suit in history where Brett Kimberlin wins and Hoge and his pack of ferrets loses and loses big.

From The Mockery Continues dated 08/07/2014

Can we say he was half right? I think we can…

It was indeed swift. Sadly, Wee Willy the Mook hasn’t found much to mock since then.

I think I feel a parody coming on…

Continue reading “The Time Has Come…and Gone”