Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall in an open sewer and die.
I only hope you purchased 10,000 copies to actually read about my repeated butthurt over the epic pwnage I have suffered at the hands of legitimate copyright owners. But, if like in the past, the book is being purchased by people who will go through it page by page looking for reasons to get it thrown off the bookshelves (what am I saying? Only REAL, PRINTED books sit on bookshelves! My puny little cyberfile never will. I can’t afford the expense of writing a real book, I’m ridiculously indigent, and I hope the judge notices) like they did with my previous books, a little something to keep in mind:
It costs me nothing to publish these books. A fine reflection of their actual worth, when you think about it.
This book costs you $00.10. Even if, as in the past, as in the present, as in the future, you find reasons to take the book off the
shelves hard drive and induce another case of EPIC butthurt, I will just remove the one violation you note, save the manuscript under a new cover with all the other violations intact, and upload it again. For nothing.
In both a financial and existential sense.
Meanwhile, when you purchase the book for no other reason than to induce this man of the cloth to fill that cloth with fear pee, bigs and butthurt, and as a side benefit to boot it from the
shelves hard drive, you’ve spent 10¢, put 4¢ in my pocket, and if it gets pulled from the shelf computer I’ll just have it back up there in a couple days.
And believe me, there are always more Depends.
And round and round we go until you complain about each and every violation, and the 767th version is just a 64 word pamphlet not worth the electrons it takes to store it. And the used Depends mount to the roof of the trailer like a snowdrift of Big Business. Because I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to play puhrtend awther and do the hard stuff it takes to actually write a good book – like, actually write something.
No one is accusing me of being intelligent. But if hundreds, perhaps thousands of legitimate copyright owners really want to give me pennies to NOT publish a book (oh, and don’t forget the desperate and incurable INTENTIONAL INFLICTION OF EPIC HEMORRHOIDAL BUTTHURT, which I secretly enjoy, and isn’t THAT pretty strange for guy who spends all his time on his ass to begin with) – why don’t we just cut out the middle man? Just give your money to my sekrit benefactor now and save yourself the effort of filing a thousand copyright claims. In fact, how about this: since I only make 4¢ a book, why not donate a nickel to the tip jar for every 5 days I stay offline? It’s what you really want anyway, and look, I finally found a way to monetize something everyone wants me to do anyway!
Doesn’t that make good sense?
Unless it really is all about the butthurt (mmmm…I do love the butt stuff!), in which case, rock on.
List Price: $00.10
Add to Cart
About the author:
Parkinson Williams was once a tiny, tiny cog in the machinery of a massive federal bureaucracy, retired after 14 fruitless years of fighting for a promotion. He now tilts against similar windmills in an ongoing but similarly fruitless effort to insult, abuse, offend, attack, slur, shame, humiliate, degrade, discredit, defame, libel, harass, torment, oppress, browbeat, persecute, bully, embarrass, threaten, frighten and intimidate anyone who says an unkind word against him, because he is a special, special snowflake with a mean streak almost as wide as the brown one inside his Depends.
Axis of Weevils
How A Small Army of Insects Chews Through My Shorts and Gives Me An EPIC Case of Butt Hurt Every Time I Self Publish a Book That Violates Their Copyright & Why My Inability To Come Up With An Original Thought Is Rotting My Brain From The Inside Out
Authored by Parkinson Williams
“We have received yet another notice from a third party regarding copyright concerns over your book. This is four times in a row. What is your major malfunction, numbnuts? We are getting sick and goddamn tired of putting up and pulling down these ‘books’ of yours. Please be advised, YET AGAIN, that copyright concerns are NOT OUR PROBLEM, and we are NOT GOING TO EXPOSE OURSELVES TO LIABILITY because YOU are TOO FREAKIN’ STUPID to consider the possibility that maybe the CTRL-C/CTRL-V method of writing and publishing is NOT THE OPTIMAL WAY to get a book into the market successfully! Thus we are obligated YET AGAIN, to remind you YET AGAIN that we have, and will continue to, remove your books from our systems until you can GET YOUR SHIT STRAIGHT and resolve the conflict with the other party.
Once more, a reminder: NOT OUR PROBLEM, IDIOT. We didn’t make this mistake. YOU DID.
AND QUIT WHINING TO US ABOUT IT.
That’s how the e-mail begins, every time. What it means is that someone made a claim to the self-publishing website that you have violated their copyright. The self-publishing website compares the material provided by the claiming party to the material in the book to which the claiming party refers. If the material compared is the same, the website has no responsibility or even interest in determining if the claim is legitimate. Their responsibility and interest is in avoiding liability. So, they get a complaint, they check the material, and Zip! Boom! Bang! Ka-Zowie! Blam! BAT-MAAAAAAAN!! Your book, the product of hour upon painstaking hour of repetitive CTRL-C & CTRL-V keystroking, is gone!
This would be fine if you were able to contact the person with the claim and resolve the differences. Or if you had the self-control to avoid using someone else’s material in the first place, or the lucidity to consider asking for permission before the fact, or the required infinitesimal fragment of wisdom required to perhaps think maybe it’s not such a good idea at all. But when the person who makes the claim, whose material you stole, is a political enemy you have been trying unsuccessfully to (CTRL-C/CTRL-V) insult, abuse, offend, attack, slur, shame, humiliate, degrade, discredit, defame, libel, harass, torment, oppress, browbeat, persecute, bully, embarrass, threaten, frighten and intimidate for 18 months, who has a “no contact order” against you – which really ought to be a hint that you have already crossed the Hmm-I’m-probably-about-to-screw-the-pooch-here-and-should-really-rethink-this-course-of-action line – then it’s impossible to work out the differences, and your book is dead.
But how is that YOUR fault?
This is Parkinson Williams’ fifth attempt to publish this book. The first time, he stole a ONE SENTENCE post, along with the 107 comments attached, from that selfsame political enemy he continues to try to (CTRL-C/CTRL-V) insult, abuse, offend, attack, slur, shame, humiliate, degrade, discredit, defame, libel, harass, torment, oppress, browbeat, persecute, bully, embarrass, threaten, frighten and intimidate. The second time, he stole an entire post (minus the context) from an anonymous blogger who then sold the relevant rights to protect himself from the inevitable effort to identify and then (CTRL-C/CTRL-V) insult, abuse, offend, attack, slur, shame, humiliate, degrade, discredit, defame, libel, harass, torment, oppress, browbeat, persecute, bully, embarrass, threaten, frighten and intimidate that blogger, and caused CreateSpace and Amazon to cease publication. The third time, he used a photo of the newborn infant of another enemy he wanted to (CTRL-C/CTRL-V) insult, abuse, offend, attack, slur, shame, humiliate, degrade, discredit, defame, libel, harass, torment, oppress, browbeat, persecute, bully, embarrass, threaten, frighten and intimidate. CreateSpace and Amazon collapsed like a folding chair in an Elkridge trailer park. The fourth time, he took a photo of a stupid, icky girl he wanted to (CTRL-C/CTRL-V) insult, abuse, offend, attack, slur, shame, humiliate, degrade, discredit, defame, libel, harass, torment, oppress, browbeat, persecute, bully, embarrass, threaten, frighten and intimidate – a photo the woman had taken by her mother specifically to provide for that newspaper’s limited usage – who ran in a local election in 2011. Amazon, CreateSpace and Lulu.com didn’t even bother to ask him, probably because of the reputation for idiocy and theft that he had very rapidly generated within the offices of these publishers. They just checked the material and took the book down, because the complaint was valid.
Something needs to change. People are using the federal copyright laws to prevent writers like Parkinson Williams from stealing other people’s copyrighted material to make specious, false, hypocritical and ultimately useless arguments using circular logic and false narratives (SWIDT?) to paint themselves as pathetic victims trying to wake up – if they’re lucky – three readers in a sleepy nation of 318 million to the threat of the insults, abuse, offense, attacks, slurs, shame, humiliation, degradation, discreditation, defamation, libel, harassment, torment, oppression, browbeating, persecution, cyberbullying, embarrassment, threats, frightening and intimidation that they have been perpetrating against their targets for years. This book and its four previous versions are absolute, perfect, textbook examples of those techniques. These people that Parkinson Williams would attack simply prefer that he attempt to make his arguments with the facts, logic and reason that persistently fail to catch a toehold anywhere within the confines of his teeny weeny brain.
In this book, author Parkinson Williams argues for companies like Amazon and CreateSpace to step up and relieve him and him alone of the responsibility that rests on every other author to hire an editor/fact checker to check his material and verify that it conforms to United States Copyright Law. He believes that before these self-publishing websites agree to publish his crappy first drafts they should have some GODDAMN RESPECT for how much effort it takes to press CTRL-C & CTRL-V five hundred times to create a one hundred seventy-four page book, and undertake the extra prior effort that he can’t be bothered with, to protect themselves against his bad faith, plagiarism and outright theft instead of subjecting it to the quick death of post-publication takedown notices.
Publication Date: May 21 2014 through May 25 2014 (best case scenario)
ISBN/EAN13: 1864920074/23821864920072 (I made those up, I hope they aren’t real)
Page Count: 174 (what a coincidence!)
Binding Type: Chained In A Small Box Under The House With Holes For Air & Food
Trim Size: Brazilian (is that more or less than a Gajillion?)
Language: Authentic Frontier Gibberish interspersed with (CTRL-V/CTRL-V) English
Color: Shut Up, Racist!
Related Categories: Mother/Pictures/Photoshop/Quit It!
With apologies, there will be no comedy offering today.
After much consideration, we here at The Thinking Man’s Zombie have determined that the relevant goofiness which has taken place in other corners of the InterToobz cannot possibly be made funnier than it already is.
Plus we were kind of busy and only got caught up after the fact.
DAMN YOU, REAL LIFE!!!
We’ll see what happens tomorrow.
I have been perpetrating shit like this for almost two years. Ever since I decided to harass Lee Stranahan and his family, my life has been a misery. Ever since Stranahan exposed my efforts publicly and Robert Stacy McCain executed some TRUE JOURNALISM and found so many of my less nuanced, less thoughtful, less than intelligent opinion pieces, and exposed my excellent friendship with an unrepentant, convicted perjurer and bomber, noble gentlemen like WJJ Hoge III and his legion of fans have recognized and called me out for the walking clot of filth that I am. People like McCain, Hoge and their readers have made the constant exposure and mockery of my preferred and very deviant methods of investigative journalism their personal business.
Today is the day I say, “Enough.”
Enough of the mockery.
Enough of the criticism.
Enough of the blog comments.
Enough of reminding me of my lifetime of inadequacies.
Enough of trying to make me face the consequences of my evil acts.
Enough of discrediting my work by quoting my work.
Enough of killing my books because I understand neither the complex idea of “fair use” nor the simple ideas of “theft, “asking permission,” and “erring on the side of caution.”
And today is the day I put my lack of money where my mouth is.
Today I have filed a lawsuit in the US District Court for the District of Maryland, Northern Division.
The defendants are:
WJJ Hoge III, who is far wiser than me
Robert Stacy McCain, who is a far better journalist than me
Nancy Gilly, aka “LibraryGryffon,” who is far skinnier than me
Paul H. Lemmen, who is far more honorable than me
Bettina Haper, aka “Black Betty,” who is far more loyal than me
Chris Heather, aka “Embryriddlealum” and any number of other sock puppets, who is far better at Photoshop than me
Kyle Kiernan, who is far more felonious than me
Stephen R. Sheiko, the soft touch I need to roll over and throw everyone else under the bus
Kimberly Dykes, a FEMALE WOMAN who has far greater impulse control than me
The anonymous blogger calling itself “Paul Krendler,” who came out of nowhere and showed everyone how easy it is to be a far better writer than me
I have filed under the following Claims for Relief.
1. Delicious Persecution and Misuse of Pork Chops
2. Inflammation and Babble
3. Smartassment and Inventional Affliction of Emotional Butthurt
There were a few people who almost made the list but did not.
Robin Wesley Causey and his wife, MaryFrances. I completely jacked them around, doxed them by mistake, and they have an ironclad counter suit if they want, so I’m staying as far from them as possible.
Yesterday, I proved, for the 3,785th time, exactly who “Embryriddlealum” is. Chris Heather. He can scream about it as much as he likes. I won’t be listening or responding. He can tell the judge. And then won’t I look like a complete ass? It’ll be just like being awake.
I was really motivated to file suit against Patrick G. Grady. But I decided against it, not out of any respect for him, nor even out of some obviously fake and contrived noble gesture for his “brave” son. It’s because not only did I dox him and his family, including that “brave” disabled son of his whose only real interest to me is as an excuse, but I also tried not once but twice to get him fired from his job, which would naturally seriously weaken the financial support he can provide to his son. I may be a subnormal who barely graduated high school with a two digit IQ, but even I know better than to sue a guy who I’ve tried three times in as many months to fuck over for reasons I can’t even remember. Add to that the fact that he’s got multiple mental conditions and violent tendencies, and you better damn well believe I’m too much of a coward to want to be in the same state as him. He literally scares the shit out of me; I just made bigs writing this paragraph.
The case is in the hands of the court. It may be awhile before it is docketed. First, the judge will have to decide whether or not I really am as indigent as I say. If so, then I will not have to pay the filing fee. That could take weeks. Not the decision, but the time it will take to save up and pay the fee. When the case is docketed, summonses will be issued if I can pay for the postage and we go from there.
I have learned from watching my excellent friend Brett Kimberlin’s campaign against a larger group. I have learned what to do – delay, deny, claim ignorance (like breathing for me), commit perjury, add defendants after the deadline, make excuses, file lots of useless motions – and what not to do – check the box, write addresses both legibly and correctly, behave like an adult.
I intentionally kept the filing simple since I really have no idea what I’m talking about. We liberals talk a good game, but the moment someone starts using facts and logic and actual legal precedents, we liberals tend to develop a bad case of flopsweat as we roll gibbering from the courtroom drenched in fear pee. I suspect it will be the same in my case.
I will launch a fundraising web page in case anyone wishes to help financially. I don’t expect it to be successful.
But, if I live long enough, I do expect to prevail in this case.
Unlike Hoge, who never lets a thought go unblogged, the only time you will hear from me about this case will be when there is something to report, such as when the
…when the LICKSPITTLES fail to take me seriously or when I am continuously compelled by the mind control manipulations of the Great Hog of Westminster to write a blog post every time he does, because I have no impulse control and my feet are round and hairy.
I will not post the filing. We’ll let people like Hoge make sure the cross bar on the capital “T” is of the proper length and whether or not the dot above the “i” is properly separated from the body of the letter.
I am Homey the Clown, and I am not playing that game. I am fighting for my life. I am fighting for my survival, but I do not expect to live long enough to survive.
Because I’m too dumb to know any better than to think the local police have nothing better to do than field my horseshit complaints about people coming up with better insults than I do, for the last 18 months I’ve had to bend over, grab my ankles and take it every time Hoge or McCain or one of their mindless herd came by to remind people what a deranged cyberstalker I am, how I will keep track of every slight, every insult, every retaliation against my epic failures of pretend journalism.
For the first time in my life, I’m the Planitiff. I’ve never sued anyone before, let alone 10 people at once. That’s probably because the internet has a strange way of amplifying my stupidity to absurd levels, and the ridicule I receive in return is far more than would ever be allowed in the civil service cube farms where the only way to get fired is to appear intolerant. Hell, before Hoge, I never even had to go to traffic court.
I was called a villain for saying “people will pay.” Well, we’ll leave that to a judge, first to determine whether I am “people,” then to decide how much I should have to pay.
Thank you for reading this. We are on a war footing and censorship measures are now in effect on this blog. I will close my Twitter account later tonight. All further transmissions will be coded. To receive the one-time pad cipher key each day, send an email containing your name, mailing address, city, state, zip code, home, work and mobile phone numbers, Social Security Number, all bank and credit card information, photos of yourself and you children and pets, cars, church, mortgage balance, credit scores, list of all medications and your most recent grocery list. Please include “DOX ME” in the subject line for high priority processing.
This is war, and I mean to die. Or win. But probably die. The important thing is, I’ll go out as the helpless hapless victim I have always been.
I was wrong.
Let me repeat that – I. WAS. WRONG.
It’s been a recurring theme throughout my life. Usually, I’m right 100% of the time, but wrong the other 9 times out of 10.
Like now, when I’m WRONG.
Here all this time, I believed Lost Causey was the creature known as “Embryriddlealum.”
I was mistaken. Another word for that would be WRONG.
Every time I tried to broach the subject, he just took a smart ass tone like he was playing with me.
Because I was wrong.
This time for sure, I know who “Embryriddlealum” is, and he gave HIMSELF away!
The first six hundred twelve times, I fucked up. Because I was wrong.
I made a mistake. Actually I made mistakes. Lots of mistakes. Oh, so many mistakes.
But first… I am not allowed to contact Lost.
Because, you know, if you haven’t noticed, I was So. Fucking. Wrong. And because I WAS WRONG, I cannot contact him.
But if I could, I would apologize.
Thank God I was wrong, because now I can’t contact him. I’m NEVER EVER WRONG (except when I’m breathing), but if there’s one thing worse than being wrong, it’s having to apologize.
But now I don’t have to, ha-ha-ha, because I was WRONG.
This does not excuse his swearing out an Injunction Against Harassment against me, a poor, indigent, disabled retiree who can’t walk or barely speak, a sweet old teddy bear who wouldn’t harm a flea, but would, in a fucking second, carve Embryriddlealum’s heart right out of his chest and show it to him before taking a big bloody chomp out of it as he curls up and dies like the cur he is. And his little dog Toto, too!
But I would never do that. Because that would be wrong.
Like me. I’m wrong.
Wrong about labeling Lost Causey as the vile and disgusting “Embryriddlealum.” (It’s probably his wife, Itza.)
But I’m not wrong now. Or maybe I am. I don’t know. Whatever.
But this I can tell you, with the exact same 100 percent certainty that I knew it was Lost Causey, that “Embryriddlealum” is none other than the same person who tweets as “Guntotingteabag” and “LiberalGrouch” and “ParkyBillTweets” “2014Radio” and “RadioFreeOfBrainCells” and “RadioWiseGuy” and “RadioLobotomy” and “INeedALobotomy” and “IWhizzedOnTheElectricFence” and “BrainSandwichLobotomy” and “ShakyBrainRadio” and “FamousLobotomyParky” and “ParkyCyberStalker” and “DerangedAnalBigot” and “KimberlinsBitchToy” and “BallGaggedByBrett” and “OwnedLikeToby” and “TeabaggedByBobber” and “IndigentDisabledVictim” and “FootlongWithMayo” and “KnottyBitch” and God Knows How Many Other Sock Puppets. He is – oh, please oh please oh please oh please ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease God let me be right this time – Christopher Heather of Racine, Wisconsin.
I was wrong before. And the time before that. And the time before that. Aaaaand the time before that, and that and that.
But I’m not wrong this time. Because except for every time I’ve been wrong, which is only about 99 times out of 100, I’m right 100% of the time.
Chris Heather, who has been ERA at least four other times previously, with soon to be dead girlfriend Kendra, who never calls or writes her dad who isn’t really even her dad, although we really have no idea why.
Follow me. You’ll enjoy this. Because you know I’m going to end up being wrong and deleting this post and the hundred or so tweets about it.
I started to suspect I was wrong – get that? I was WRONG! AGAIN!! – about Causey being ERA about 6 years before Al Gore even invented the internet. Even though I am a liberal scumbag and was completely gobsmacked and sent slinking back to my slime pit during the Operation Burn Notice nonsense, I contacted one of the senior folks of the former Knot My Wisconsin group, with Alzheimer’s, and with whom I’ve developed a friendly relationship because he has no idea who I am. Like that nice old lady in Oregon had no idea who I am either. I was right about her being PEMason54 too, remember. I had to 404 those posts for some reason. I don’t remember why. Whatever. He said he was aware of “Aaron Burr” who killed an “Alexander Hamilton” a long time ago and now tweets as “SuperAaronBurr” and is, in fact, 210 years later, Lost Causey of Khaki Valley, AZ. My new friend could not say for sure (I think one or both of us fell asleep), but he was fairly certain that Heather Locklear was ERA.
That was just what I wanted to hear. Because it means I was WRONG.
So, because I think and write like an 8 year old girl with Down’s Syndrome, I laid a little trapsy wapsy for ERA today. I did a simple search on the Wisconsin Judiciary Case Search and found a domestic violence case involving Chris Heather and a girl named Stacy Thomas. I’ve been taunting ERA with that all afternoon because I NEVER START AAAAANYTHING! He gave himself away when I said I had called her and she said the fight was because she made fun of my junk.
No wait, that’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
Sometimes I’m wrong. Not often, though. Only 999 times out of 1000.
I didn’t say she made fun of my junk. I said she made fun of MY junk.
ERA, as idiots like me will do, gave himself away.
Hah. So, he knows Stacy Thomas had shuffled off the mortal coil. Keep in mind, I did not mention Heather Locklear at all in my very characteristic I-NEVER-START-AAAAAAAAAANYTHING! taunting of ERA today. In fact, because I’m so smart (think “Fredo Corleone” smart) I covered his name on the Wisconsin report. Regard my epic SOOOPER GEEEENYUSSSSNEZZZS!
Like a big old catfish (say, I heard this joke the other day: what’s the difference between Bill Schmalfeldt and a catfish? One is a scum-sucking, bottom-dwelling garbage eater, and the other is a fish! I don’t get it. Whatever.) Heather, or ERA – embryriddlealum is hard to type more than 5 times in a thousand word post, you know – if you will, took the bait. The rest was just legwork, no pun intended (because I’m a cripple, you know, a poor, indigent, disabled failure of a dying crippled cripple-y crip-crip-cripple, get it?). No problem for a genius super ethical puhrtend internet investigative journamalist.
1. ERA knows a Stacy Thomas and knows she is dead.
2. Stacy Thomas was the respondent in a domestic abuse case, which must mean she beat the wimpy bastard Chris Heather up – there can’t be any other possible explanation. Just like there couldn’t possibly be any other explanation but that the person I continue to seek to frame for threatening the dogs who love to lick mayonnaise off my privates was a senior citizen in Oregon. Remember how I was EXACTLY RIGHT about that for like, 45 minutes before I 404’d it when I turned out to be WRONG AGAIN AS USUAL!
Anyway, here’s the original file.
Now this all happened in 1995. 20 years ago. Why should we care? WE shouldn’t. But I do. Because I am a psychotic fucking nutcase with a blog and Twitter audience of about 6 and I believe that I can shame and intimidate people off the internet by telling secrets in the public record that even my targets don’t give a shit about – because even when I’m right about the embarrassing facts, I’m wrong about the target 9,999 times of 10,000.
And that’s just fucking WRONG. Which is your basic, all-encompassing perfect description of…ME!!
So, we know that Heather Locklear lives in Racine.
So, where did Stacy Thomas live in 1995?
Is it possible that there could have been another Stacy Thomas living in the area at the time? Is it worthwhile to try and find out? Of course not! Because if I found one, then someone could say I was WRONGWRONGWRONGWRONGWRONGWRONGWRONG.
And I’m always right. Except for every other time I’ve doxed ERA. But not this time. This time I’m sure it’s Itza Lost Causey!
And you will notice she died in 2010. In Virginia. Much closer to my neck of the woods, you see. And I was a bit more mobile then than am now. I’m not suggesting that I had anything to do with Stacy’s death, you understand.
Because that would be wrong.
And I’m only wrong 99,999 times out of 100,000. The rest of the time I’m perfect, the World’s Greatest and Most Awesomest Investigative Journalist. Ever. Ezra Klein should hire me.
According to the Social Security Death Index….
Hey look! A social security number! Anybody need to apply for a mortgage? I’ll bet her credit is excellent with no missed payments for 4 years.
A. Heather Locklear got beat up by Stacy Thomas (mmm…girl fight)
B. I disguised Heather’s name on the court report and accused ERA of getting beaten up by a girl. But I wasn’t starting anything!
C. ERA denied it all. And no matter how much she denies, even on a stack of Bibles in a court of law, she must by a lying dog because I AM NEVER WRONG except for 999,999 times out of 1,000,000.
D. I told him I talked to her and she made fun of the fact that my feet are hairier than Bilbo Baggins’s and I pee out the top of my head.
E. ERA says, “Oh, you can talk to corpses?” Meaning he knows she’s dead. And he probably knows I killed her, too.
F. A simple search – which is about all I’m capable of anymore, unless it involves REALLY POOR quality photoshops of Ali Akbar- finds Stacy L. Thomas, who once lived 5 miles away from Chris Heather, died in Virginia in 2010. She’s the right age, or… was, I should say. And therefore, in the same manner that I was right about Palatine Pundit being KimberlinUnmasked and having a weapons training permit despite being dead (404’d, of course), I must be right about the Stacy Thomas who died in Virginia being the same one who must have carved Heather Locklear’s face off in college.
G. I never once mentioned the name “Heather” in my taunt.
But there was this little girl named Heather when I was in grade school…I remember I used to chase her around the playground, but I could never catch her because I was already big and slow at age 8, physically as well as intellectually. Once I caught her when she wasn’t looking and tried to give her a kiss. She slapped me and kicked me in the junk.
Stupid girls, I hate them!
I got her, though. She fell in the river and drowned just a couple days before we moved away. I remember it well, especially anytime I’m close to a rushing river and smell the water. I can almost feel her stringy hair in between my fingers as I –
Uh, never mind. Where was I?
[A*(B+C)/D-(E^F) + 3.1415927*G] over the square root of the hypotenuse = ERA is HEATHER LOCKLEAR RAINES, who “accidentally drowned” in 1963!
This time. See, I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t. No, I wasn’t. SHUT UP, MOTHER! YOU’RE DEAD! WHY WON’T YOU JUST STAY DEAD???
So, give it up, ERA. You, slimeball, are BUSTED!!!
At least until I need to bend reality again. Which I can do. Because I’m Dook Man. My bigs have super powers. Speaking of which…
Oh, but before I post this, there’s just one more thing to say:
IF YOU TAKE ONE THING AWAY FROM THIS POST, THIS WOULD BE IT: except for the rest of the time when I am always 100% completely mistake free, I only foul up really bad 9,999,999 times out of 10,000,000.
And that’s a lot better than I used to be.
I pulled out an ancient CD to listen to yesterday, and it remains the greatest piece of “Guilty Pleasure” music I’ve ever purchased.
There’s nothing truly excellent about it, it’s just one of those celebrity vanity albums that seem to cycle through the culture every 8-10 years.
Continue reading “Just For Fun”
Johnny Atsign – The saga continues!
You probably heard about this by now, how a teabagging dipshit conservative blogger named Clayton Thomas Kelly snuck into a nursing home so he could take a quick snapshot of Sen. Thad Cochran’s bedridden wife, suffering from dementia?
I think I may have to relinquish my crown as the World’s Greatest Investigative Reporter. I should have thought of doing this years ago. I’m so disappointed in myself. Continue reading “Damn, I Wish I'd Thought of That!”
Victorious, the soldier returns from the battlefield. I am no longer engaged in Internet warfare. I have scrubbed this blog of all reference to the vanquished foe who lies vanquished in Westminster having been vanquished by me, the Great Vanquisher. But my victorious victory has not come without a price. In every battle I have ventured forth across the cyber-minefield of blogs and Tweets carefully planted specifically and for no other purpose but to intentionally aggravate my Parkinson’s disease. Continue reading “PLEASE, I'M BEGGING – For the Love of God, Stop Me Before I FailDox Again!”