Can't Speak For Everyone, But…

…clearly someone has dickstomped himself with the Hasty Generalization fallacy.

There is no general case to describe this.  Sometimes it’s a morbidly obese, mentally inferior, abusive needledick who prefers Japanese transsexuals that drove his wife into a bottle, then into the arms of a real man…

…twice…

…and sometimes it’s not.

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Good Morning, DUMBFUCK

That’s you, Bill.  I thought I had better be explicit because you’re such a pathetic idiot you might think I wasn’t referring to the demented trailer-dwelling cyber harassing stalker freak from Elkridge, Maryland.

For the rest of the Zombie Horde, this is an open thread for us to discuss him right under his nose and make him dance like a funny little monkey.

For example, what shade do you think his face is turning as he reads this?

  • Pepto Bismol
  • Breast Cancer Awareness
  • Prime Rib, medium well
  • Medium rare
  • Dude, chill…are you having a stroke?
  • Hulk pants purple

I say he’s right at raw hamburger (the 70% crap, not the 85% good stuff) that’s been sitting out for about six hours.

So tell me Bill, because I’ve never tried it – what does mayonnaise mixed with honey taste like when you lick it off your goo-covered little fingers?

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So This Comment Came In

4-17-2015 9-14-33 AM

And after thinking about it, I realize that Bill, for once in your miserable life you are absolutely right.  The fact that you won a court case is not a good reason for you to “need to die.”

In fact, I doubt it would crack the Top 50.

But as a gesture of goodwill, I have identified grace3g.

So there you go.  Happy?

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My So-Called Friends Need To Learn That the Expert on Me Is Me, And It's Always About Me.

For some reason I will never understand, the so-called conventional wisdom among my so-called friends is that I should stay off Twitter.  I love my so-called friends, but I can no longer honor that request which I could never honor in the first place.

For one thing, I do not CARE what the people who hate me have to say about me. When they invade my Twitter timeline by reading it and stalk me by responding to it, and they are the same trolls who have figured out how to make my life miserable for more than two years by quoting my own words back at me, I block them, I report them, and if Twitter does its job, it removes their accounts. Of course, especially puerile individuals like, well, I know who I am, just create a new sock puppet account and I’m back online within hours…one hundred nine (109) times and counting.

I need Twitter. Like a meth-head needs the next hit.  Like an excellent friend needs sleepovers.  Like I need Krendler’s head on a spike in my driveway.  I need it to be able to pretend this podcast is successful. I need it to spread the word to my zero followers about what the subject of the day is.

My so-called friends refuse to participate. They have wised up, at long, long last. That is why I currently have “O” followers. They seem to equate my not following their advice as not having respect for them.  I could ask them if that’s true, but then I would know for sure what they think, and I would no longer be able to fabricate their opinions for myself in Cloud Cuckoo Land.  Besides, I know they are wrong.  They must be wrong if they take the side of my enemies in anything.  I love my so-called friends. But I intend to run my life according to my wishes for how the world should work, not at the whim of my enemies or at the demands of my so-called friends. If my so-called friends wish to show their disapproval of this decision by not feeding my delusion that someone on the planet cares what I have to say?  Well, achievement unlocked.  The trolls have known this for years, and now that my so-called friends have shown their true colors, the undeniable fact is truly undeniable, even to a thickheaded pudding brain like the Dim Weeper.  This is why I took my account offline earlier today. But as soon as I am done producing today’s show I will be back online on Twitter @enditalltribune. If you, my phantom listener who knew me when I was nothing and nobody, who has seen the depths to which I have now sunk, less than nothing, less than nobody, if you hear this podcast before I delete it in shame and fear pee like every other thing I have published online, I hope you will subscribe to it, download it, and share your thoughts on Twitter and on our website, end_itall_tribune.com.  That way, I will be able to identify you by your IP address and dox you because you left truthful comments on my blog which are just as hurtful and cruel as someone leaving a bag of dogshit near my trash bin.

But I am not going to allow my life to be controlled by people who think they know what’s best for me.  Like those idiots who think it’s a bad idea to post pictures of my dying wife.  Who doesn’t love Rule 5?  Nor do my so-called friends get to decide FOR me if and how I continue to inflict myself on the world.  No.  The expert on me is me, and closure is drawing near.  Yes.  Closure.  Drawing.  Near.  8 days until relief.

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Living in the Head of a Fictional Zombie?

Terrific!

 

I’m especially gratified to hear your hateful, flap-skinned, no-gag-reflex-having truck stop dolly the @captivenurse is feeling well enough to be left alone while you take your little vacation to see what an actual, functioning brain looks like.

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