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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You Keep Using That Word

I do not think it means what you think it means

 

Just one zombie’s humble opinion here, but I think if you tallied up the total number of uses (and misuses) of this word and its many variants in every published work across the entire history of the written word, you would find three things:

  1. It is used incorrectly more often than not
  2. Its usage has spiked over the last 45 to 55 years
  3. That spike in usage is attributable to one person

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For teh EPIC Monkeydancing Dick Stomp You Perpetrated Today

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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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Welcome to Butthurt'R'Us

Bildo Baggins has said in the past that photos depicting family members are not acceptable.

That does not mean he has the power to control himself, because he posts pictures of family members all the time. Babies with skulls photoshopped over their heads, wives standing atop giant penises, minor children holding hamsters. Just because he SAYS something is so certainly doesn’t make it so. We are bound by his edicts about family members only so far as he is. That means if he can’t prevent himself from photoshopping a woman onto a penis, there’s no reason we must avoid photoshopping someone else’s face onto a photo of a monkey pleasuring himself. That means when Bildo puts Mexican Day of the Dead faces on a Lickspittle, then he must be okay with someone photoshopping pictures of people he cares about. That means when anonymous commenters submit comments of someone’s wife in some other compromising position, then it must be okay for anyone to do the same thing as he or she sees fit.

Bildo has as much control over that sort of thing as Hoge and I have over the Gravatar images people choose for their avatars. And as a Free Speech Warrior who believes that the answer to bad speech is MORE speech, there is no greater advocate for the opposition to such usages of photos, or for others to make similar comments, provided they have and continue to meet the requirements of community decorum, which in my case are quite loose and freewheeling.

And I do not say I am going to start mass-producing photoshopped pictures of Gail Schmalfeldt. I don’t do that.

But if I were to allow it, and some waggish soul decided to make a substantive comment that included an avatar or even a full photograph of the sweet Mrs. Schmalfeldt’s face on a young woman’s body, said body being on the receiving end of some special attention from a hugely well-endowed African American porn star, under the Bildo’s rules, I would be within my rights to publish such a comment, would I not?

Especially if I had a sooper sekrit site where I could be sure that Bildo would never see such a disturbing image (or any of the dozens of other such images that may or may not already exist there thanks to the collective Zombie Horde who shall remain nameless), and his perpetual butthurt would not be exacerbated by the intentional self-infliction of emotional distress.

See the logic?

Who cares if you do or not? This is the Internet, where I could be lying with total impunity.

Or not. Good luck figuring it out.

Ha. Ha. And motherfucking HA!

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