I

WAS AN UNDERCOVER
INTERNET TROLL
By Anonymous
Copyright 2015 by Anonymous
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2015
ISBN 978-1518730085

INSTRUCTIONS TO THE
READER
Cyberspace is a kooky place. Everyone seems to believe they have
friends and enemies on the Web. They do not. You actually have to
personally know someone for that individual to be a friend or an
enemy. That individual you have never met, who you know only by his
or her Twitter handle, Facebook account, or Blog ID is a stranger.
You have no idea who that person is. That person is no more your
friend or enemy than my toaster is your friend or enemy. The
Internet is a machine. We are machines communicating with other
machines. We say things to other machines that we would never think
of saying to a persons face. That is why most Internet users hide
their identities. If you are a regular user of the Net, you know what I
mean.
This is a fictionalized version of events that may or may not have ever
happened. You cant know whats true and whats not. Its a book.
Words on a page or screen, as the case may be. They are my words.
I own them. Although I remain Anonymous, this book and every word
in it is registered as my property at the US Copyright Office in
Washington, DC. If you think you can identify me by the words
herein, then you will have to identify yourself to prove it. Anyone who
claims to have written these words in the same order as these words
appear is a liar. Know how you can tell? Who owns the copyright. Me.
Thats who.
I believe the Internet is more responsible for the overall decline in
civility than any other medium in our natures history. Is this how we
really are, or does the anonymity of the Internet make us that way

350 million Walter Mittys in the United States, pretending to be that

which we show on our avatars. Strong, vibrant, sexy, powerful. If we
could see the person behind the avatar, what would we see? The catlike woman clad in a leather body suit that clings to every curve? Or
a dumpy housewife using the web to kill some time until hubby gets
home so he can pretend to be some kind of Internet tough guy for
people he will never know and who will never know him.
For over a year, I pretended to be someone I wasnt. I saw a chance to
make a little bit of pocket change by pitting people against each
other. I didnt victimize anyone. The person I pitted a large group of
conservative Net users was myself. I created a right wing character,
used that character to vilify my real progressive identity, and got lots
of cash donations in the process.
I thought I was conducting an experiment in human nature and
making a little bit of money in the process. What I ended up doing
was proving how deep into the pits of hell some people are willing to
go to defame someone theyve never met, never will meet, just
because some ideological fellow traveler told them to do it.
If you knew someone down the street, and that persons spouse died,
would you camp out on that persons lawn and taunt him or her on a
daily basis about the death of the one they loved?
Nobody would sink that low, right? Not without an anonymous
Internet account, a good proxy server, and a reservoir of hate
heretofore unimaginable.
Some people need a little push. But once they get used to the taste of
blood, they yammer for more.
I know. I started changing into the monster I created. I got out. And
now, for the first time, Im telling you how I did it in the hopes that

you will learn to regulate your own civility and remember, theres a
very real possibility that person you are having a flame war with on
Twitter is a decent human being.
Or maybe not.
You know how the Internet is.

1.

THE PREMISE

Simply, the idea was to raise a few bucks. We had no idea how successful
it would be. Never again will I underestimate the right wing conservative
capacity for blind hatred.
The idea coalesced when my friend with the unfortunate name of John
McHog, who I will just refer to as Hoggy, and I were out for a drive.
We were discussing, among other things, how free conservatives are with
their donations as long as they believed they were contributing to
conservative causes.
Its like stealing, Hoggy said as his vintage Dodge Dart (in immaculate
condition) breezed along Maryland State Highway 144 towards Ellicott
City. If they think you are one of them, if youve really convinced the
online idiots that you are like-minded, you can stub your toe, start a Pay
Pal account, ask for help for medical expenses, and you will get handouts
by the hundreds.
He smiled and spat a wad of Red Man out his coalescedwindow. It hit the
windshield of a pickup truck in the oncoming lane. The driver honked.
Hoggy flipped him the bird.,
He had a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker, Hoggy said.
We had a good laugh, but truth be told, Hoggys habit did not make him
an easy man to look at. The few teeth he had left were brown and stumpy,
and the tobacco drool left a brown stain in the hairs of his beard and
mustache surrounding his constantly chapped lips.
To put it crudely, his mouth looked like a poorly-wiped butt with
rotting teeth.
You ever hear of that guy Brent Timmerman, he asked me, wiping his
mouth then his nose on his red flannel shirt.

I just shrugged.
OK, ever read that Dunesbury comic strip in the papers? Back in the
80s, Timmerman was a real life regular character on that strip. He
claimed he sold pot to Dan Quayle.
That, I remembered.
Well, Hoggy said, turns out he got convicted for a series of car
bombings back in the Midwest, and the Dunesbury strip was about how
jail officials put Timmerman in solitary rather than let him talk to the
media about selling grass to Quayle.
I asked Hoggy what that had to do with scamming conservatives.
Do you have a blog, he asked. I told him that since I had retired I had
been doing some freelance reporting online. Good, he said. Then I
wont have to explain the concept to you.
He fixed me with a conspiratorial glare, taking his eyes off the road for
much too long, I thought.
I run this right wing blog I call BlogBlather. I pretend to be a rocket
scientist or some shit at the Goddard Lab in Greenbelt.
I couldnt help but chuckle at that. Hoggy was not a dumbass by any
stretch of the imagination, but I dont think he would ever pass a piss test.
He told me once that his urine actually evaporates before it hits the cup,
which would render the entire enterprise fruitless.
I saw that this Timmerman, whos been out of jail for 10 years or so, is
the target of a bunch of right wing fuckstarts attached like remora rays to
the shark-like ass of Andrew Breitbart. Brent founded a non-profit to
educate young voters on progressive issues. He filed a lawsuit against this
Breitbart knob over his involvement with tampered voting machine or
some other such fuckery.
He stared thoughtfully out through the windshield.

It was either that, or illegal videotaping of a government employee.

Something like that.
He was quiet for a few seconds. I thought we had reached the end of the
scamming the conservatives conversation. We had not.
His neck cracked as he turned his head to face me again. The Dart veered
ever so slightly over the centerline as a Peterbilt that looked far too large
to be on this tiny strip of asphalt loomed closer. Im not sure if Hoggy
was aware of it, or if some mechanical self-preservation instinct in the
Dart caused it to ease back over into the right lane.
I found out that Timmerman is suing one of the smaller dingleberries on
Breitbarts ass crack, Hoggy said, still fixing me with that I cant
remember the last time I wasnt stoned glare. This dingleberry, calling
himself Plato or Pluto or Bluto or some other such fucking thing,
was badmouthing Brent on the numbnuts blog. Brent decided enough
was enough, hence the lawsuit.
Hoggy gave me a wide, stinky smile. It was a look that always made the
undigested food in my intestines inch its way a few inches toward the
point of no return.
Some shithead lawyer who got fired when Brent learned his real name
and found out he was running a blog with the purpose of inflaming
Islamophobic feelings. He shared that info with the dweebs boss, they
disposed of him like a preemie born at the senior prom.
I nodded an OK.
So, I got in touch with this derp through my blog. And in one e-mail I
had him convinced that I was one of him, or one of them, or some other
such fuck. He mentioned me in his blog, then the people who read his
blog mentioned me in their blogs, and it was like someone threw a pebble
into a muddy pool of stupid. The ripple effect, Bill.
I nodded another OK.

So now, once a day or such, I write some stupid right wing argle bargle,
and Im starting to build a serious readership. I posted one of those Pay
Pal donation buttons. And I make enough to fill up old Connie once a
week.
Since that was the name of his wife and the name of his car, I resisted the
urge to ask which he was talking about.
You interested?
I said sure and asked what I had to do.
Start a blog. Write something critical about this lawyer idiot. Then I will
read your blog and give you the righteous right wing retort you require. I
will ask the dunderheads to throw their socialist social security checks
into my tip jar and split the profits with you.
Well. Its not like I had anything better to do.
When Hoggy dropped me off at the house, I kissed my wife and pet my
dogs (always in that order) and got on the computer. I read up on the
Timmerman case, and wrote a few paragraphs about how once a person
pays his debt to society, his debt is paid in full and he should be allowed
to live a productive lifestyle. Hoggy was as good as his word.
On September 3, 2012, he posted this entry.
Some bozo calling himself the Liberal Grump appears to be a member
of Brent Timmermans clown posse, and hes threatening to sue Aaron
Slouch for defamation. He believes that Mr. Slouch defamed him
because he was accurately quoted in postings tweeted by Mr. Slouch.
You can find the details of the exchange in question here, including
tweets/posts that the Liberal Grump deleted (perhaps in an attempt to
erase evidence?).
Team Timmerman is saying that they will start a legal defense fund
for the Liberal Grump if he sues Mr. Slouch. They have the right idea
because he will need a defense fund when the counterclaims come back

from Aaron Slouch.

Oh, and if Bill Parvocampus (if thats his real name) is stupid enough
to sue Aaron Slouch, Ill be first in line to make a substantial
contribution to the Blogger Defense Team to help defray Mr. Slouchs
legal expenses.
UPDATE@LiberalGrump tweets that I should read his side of the
story. I have. My comments above stand.
And the war was on.
And the fun had just begun.

2.

THE SAD AND ANGRY BIRTH OF PAUL KRENDLER

After a bit more than a year of the back and forth, including Hoggy
attempting to get his county to file criminal charges against me for using
a quote from Julius Caesar as a death threat and a claim that I had
hijacked a Brazilian computer server just to use it to send sass to Hoggy,
we decided it was time to branch out with a second version of
BlogBlather.
We decided to call the new blog The Thinking Mans Zombie and I
would adopt the user name of Paul Krendler, the guy who gets the top
of his skull sawed off in the Hannibal movie.
I figured it might be good for a few weeks.
My main target the evil in our presence calling itself Bill Parvocampus.
In this early effort I just rewrote a previous legit blog post, changing a
word here and there to make it more mocky.
I thought it might be a nice touch to mock my own Parkinsons disease. If
people were going to buy this Krendler character, they were going to have
to climb into the mud pit with him.

Trying To Silence Me, Pretty Much

Because Im Guilty
Posted: May 15, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

We Bullies HATE It When You Fight Back!

I had yet another Facebook account taken down because I am writing
lies about Robin Wesley and John McHog. I re-established it last night
and posted NOTHING! This morning, it was gone again, because these
wise and gentle men who regularly scare streams of fear-pee from my
loins, do not want me to continue spreading lies about them.
They have filed several legitimate DMCA complaints against me. This
morning, I was lying about that to friends one of my many Twitter
accounts, one of the very few that has not been suspended or
abandoned. Now, that has been taken from me as well.
I guess this is going to turn into one of those games where my efforts to
tell lies about them will be like whack-a-mole. If I put up a new
Twitter account and start talking shit, Wesley/McHog will just get it
taken down. If I put up a new Facebook account, Wesley/McHog will
just have it taken down. Because Im a big fat liar. With Parkinsons.
And Im indigent. Probably because I got hold of some bad mayonnaise.
I hope I dont make bigs again before she gets home.
HOGS!!
WESLEY!!
FOCUS!!
DIM GIRL!!
LICKSPITTLES!!
MOTHERS DAY PHOTOSHOPS!!

AKBAAAAAAAAR!!!
Uh-ohfrozen again!
(Come on, Shilohbark for daddy)
Ack! Thank goodness!
The point I was going to make is, I have filed false DMCA
counterclaims with CreateSpace and Amazon. McHog/Wesley are
required to do nothing to prove they have taken steps to file a court
order. They are not required to file a response to my obviously false
counterclaim filing suit against me for violating their copyrights
within 14 days if they wish to contest my lies. After checking with
intellectual property attorneys, since the State of Arizona has no
jurisdiction over me.
(WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT SENTENCE EVEN MEAN?)
I dont live there, and I have official letters of thanks from Arizona and
48 other states to prove it. My book was not directed at the state of
Arizona, which has nothing to do with anything because copyright law
is in the federal jurisdiction. Therefore, according to the precedent set
down by the US 1oth (or 10th whatever, Im a fully trained German
Liszt!) Circuit Court in Dudnikov v. Chalk & Vermilion Fine Arts,
Wesley will not have to file in the US District Court for the District of
Maryland by May 29, or the book goes back online. Because I, the
Great and Powerful Parvocampus, speak it, and by speaking it, make it
so!
Bender of reality and un-reinforced furniture, thats me!
And if our Free Speech Loving McHog and Weskey dont want me to
have the platform of Twitter or Facebook to bully them into submission,
I yield to their opinion. I have other options.
Hmmmaybe Ill try a radio station and see how that works out!
See ya in court (Ah, but when? Thats the really interesting question.)!

THINGS I REALLY LIKE A LOT IN

A TRANSPARENTLY
NARCISSISTIC PASSIVEAGGRESSIVE WAY
Posted: May 16, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

Lets start the day on a passive-aggressively positive note with a short

list of things that I really, really like a whole lot.
1. I like it when a person whos had multiple books removed from
publication due to blatant copyright violations lectures on copyright
law. And Parkinsons Disease.
2. I like it when a yibble bibble bibble dribbling moron, whose sum total
of reward for all his accomplishments is a paupers retirement in a
single-wide tornado magnet, assumes that he knows every detail of
everyones life based solely on what he can FIND online, regardless of
what may EXIST online. I also like it when such a fool thinks he knows
more about anything than the collective Wisdom of Crowds. Or
Parkinsons Disease, which I suffer from.
3. I love it when morbidly obese, cowardly ex-government functionaries
who have slid by on the path of least resistance their whole miserable
lives mock people who make an effort to be a positive force in their
communities, instead of just being another helpless calf (who suffers
from Parkinsons Disease the gait kind) sucking the government tit.
4. I am thrilled when people with lifelong records of consistent
achievement mock my provable record of repeated (and repeated, and
repeated, and repeated, and repeated Jesus, where will it end??)
online journalism failures. And my Parkinsons Disease, which I
know is really just mocking me, but if I say its about Parkinsons it just
sounds so much more VICTIM-Y doesnt it?

5. Nothing makes me happier than seeing someone mention any kind of

disability or disorder, because it gives me another target to gleefully
mock, even though I suffer from Parkinsons Disease myself the gait
kind, not the tremor kind Although, when I say nothing makes me
happier, I guess that really doesnt include a nice footlong with
mayonnaise
6. The vibrant, thoughtful, creative and stimulating commentary that
follows each of my brilliant blog posts. Oh, wait I forgot Im not the
Defendant, Im the Planitiff! And I have Parkinsons! Have I
mentioned that?
7. Oh, and I smile when people who (as far as my meager Google-Fu
has been able to determineHINT, HINT!) have never written
anything more successful than a grocery list tell me how to compile a
book from stolen blog posts or point out to me the many times and the
seemingly endless variety of ways I have violated, and continue to
violate, both federal copyright law and the most basic rules of
journalism. Which I can do because of my debilitating Parkinsons,
which has also made me indigent, which makes my wife sad and
lonesome.
8. I love it when I get up in the morning and type a fresh rant about
someone who, in my opinion, is responsible for the stress which causes
accelerated deterioration of my Parkinsons which I suffer from, by
the way always repicking the same idiotic arguments on a line-by-line
basis, spouting the same self-serving, subjective mis-interpretation of
state and federal law, then complaining that the judge who granted the
bogus peace order doesnt understand what the Twitter is, and the
Appeals Court is going to overturn it anyway because PARKINSONS!!
(I think I know someone who has that) and MCHOGGISH
LICKSPITTLE MORONS!!
Where was I? Oh, yeah
9. I love it when I check my website to raise money to Help Me Get My

Good Name Back From The Wingnuts and see that balance steadily
holding at precisely three-tenths of one percent of the goal. What a
great feeling it is to express my right to free speech using sock puppet
accounts on Facebook and Twitter, safe in the knowledge that I have
such good friends and allies backing me up in times of need, like when
my Parkinsons Disease is especially bad. I did mention that, didnt I?
Of course I did, you dim girl!
And you know what I like best of all, right after sharing a footlong with
mayonnaise? And this isnt ACME LAW or my opinion or anything that
came to me in a dream like when the Bobber visits and we wrassle like
when we were boys.
10. I LOVE THE FACT THAT AFTER STUDYING LAW AT
HARVARD,YALE AND THE UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND, I STILL
DONT UNDERSTAND THAT THE PARTS OF THE LAW I DONT
LIKE APPLY JUST AS DO THE PARTS OF THE LAW THAT I DO
LIKE!
Life is good. But my dick hurts. And why am I wearing hobnail boots?
HONORABLE MENTIONS OF THINGS I REALLY LIKE:
11. Alpo Helper Wednesday
12. The daily invitations to be a guest on Jerry Springer.
13. Having a dog who likes mayonnaise, too.
14. Memories of going horseback riding with Mom. Shed send the
Bobber and me for an hour on the trail riding Buttercup and Sugarbear,
while she stayed behind in the stable to ride Big Mandingo. He was a
big damn horse. And Mom always had a funny walk going back to the
car.
15. The first warm day of Spring, when we can really air out the house
after being cooped up all winter. At some point, the Lysol just cant cut
it anymore!

I really thought that one would tip the apple cart For one thing, it was
stream-of-consciousness lunacy. The Bobber is my twin brother who
died in 2004. My mom died in 2013. I thought I was going well over the
line by mocking dead family members. But the readers loved it. They
wanted more. And for all the praise Paul was raking in, the anonymous
e-mail hate ramped up. One person suggested he would make me watch
as he gutted my dogs.

Oblivious People Tend to Be Oblivious

Posted: May 17, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

The person that I thought might be the slime ball I want to frame for
threatening to gut my dogs is not the person I want to frame for
threatening to gut my dogs.
I know, I know. Youre shocked. Ill give you all a moment to regain
consciousness, splash some water on your face, maybe get the smelling
salts.
As it turns out, she is a very nice, very sweet lady who has no idea why a
poor, indigent, disabled, creepy old man from the other side of the
country would call her up and threaten to publish all her personal
information on the internet for no good reason other than pettiness and
spite.
She returned my phone call about an hour ago and we had a very
pleasant conversation. She was far more polite to me than I had been to
her. Because, lets face it I couldnt be more of a dick if my feet were
testicles. Regardless, after she spent 50 minutes trying to convince me
that I was wro**, that I was incor****, that I had made a mist***, that
she wasnt the motherf*cking bastard LICKSPITTLE!! who threatened
my mayonnaise-loving puppies that Im going to track down and expose
if its the last goddamn thing I do.
What was I talking about?
Oh, yeahso, anyway
I apologized for calling her out of the blue and scaring her like that, but
I needed to be sure or let an arbitrary deadline pass before I went
public with the info I had, which everyone knows is always right (even
today, no matter what this poor bitch says, its probably her husband,
just you wait). See, unlike Chris Heater (or Jerry Kinsey) and Wesley
Causey (or Howard Earl) and Patrick Grody (or TimmermanUnmasked
or OwainPenilyn? Frankie? Johnny Tyler?) and Nancy Gryffon (or

Tom Puzio), I did not have independent verification that the person I
thought to be the slimebag was the slimebag.
I wanted to post something online, in case McHog and all his little
HOGIST LICKSPITTLE MINIONS!!1!1ELEVENTY!1!!
But I didnt reveal all her info. Now, I dont have to. I have to keep
digging because I was wro**, because I was incor****, because I made
a mist***, because she MIGHT not be the motherf*cking bastard
LICKSPITTLE!! who threatened my mayonnaise-loving puppies.
This is what happens when a person who has never heard of me and has
no idea what a leaking sphincter I really am or what evil Im capable
of, ignorantly treats me with infinitely more deference and respect than
I deserve simply because I say Im a journalist, which is a little like
saying Barack Obama is a good President. They dont hang up,
because theyre completely oblivious. They dont pretend to be
something theyre not, because the worlds greatest investigative
journalist yes, me, you MORON! concluded that Google Hit #1
Must Be The Perpetrator. You ask questions, you get straight answers
from gullible senior citizens who have no clue who you are.
How much simpler would my life be if Abu Akbar had done that. Or Lee
Strannyham or any of the scum sucking bottom feeders who refused to
be coerced and bullied into answering sick, twisted questions from a
sick, twisted Puhrtend EHRMAGERD! Germy Lust.
She wanted to know how I got her cellphone number. I told her that one
does not question the magical talents of the purtend jurnurlirst. No,
seriously!
Id love to be able to say I had to dig seriously to find the number, that
it really was a serious journalistic achievement, but I came by her
number the same way I always do: it was a total accident. The stupid
broad left it on her answering machine message. I told her the best
advice I could give her is to get offline and dont ever come back,
because Im very likely to forget the whole conversation ever happened

and dox her anyway. Im sure shes a very nice lady, but, wellIm a
leaking sphincter with a hole at the top of my head and testicles where
my feet should be. What do you expect?
This is what I have been saying all along. Ignorant people answer
stupid questions when they are asked. If the answer is, none of your
business, thats fine. But dont duck, dodge, hide, try to twist or slime
the person who asked you ignorant questions that are none of their
business. All you do is get my curiosity aroused.
And if theres one thing NOBODY needs to see, its me when Im
aroused. I dont think they sell eye bleach in 55 gallon drums.
And you really dont want to see how that turns out. Every time Im
humiliated, I just hide for five days in shame and bitter embarrassment,
then re-double my efforts. Do I give up? Do I give up pursuing the
people I am pursuing?
Golly, no. Theres only one thing that will stop me and that will be the
day the men in white come to the tornado-magnet, put me in the extralong sleeve jacket and take me for a ride to Spring Grove.
Until then, scumbags beware, because The Great Walking well,
Rolling, actually Skinflute of Elkridge is coming burst your bubble.
So do a better job of covering your tracks.
OK, PXXXXXX Mason of Portland?
Is that Maine, Oregon, Texas, Tennessee, North Dakota, Indiana,
Connecticut, Michigan, Arkansas, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio,
Missouri or Kentucky?
NAILED IT AGAIN! LIKE A BOSS!!
One of the most oft-repeated charges against me was that I go after
people with whom I disagree for no other reason but to stalk and harass. I
have never revealed anyones identity who didnt specifically ask me to
do it. I wasnt successful in every instance, but I nailed more than I

missed. So, the topic of all of Parvocampus fail doxes seemed like it
would get some readership.

PLEASE, IM BEGGING For the

Love of God, Stop Me Before I
FailDox Again!
Posted: May 18, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

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 Parkinsons
disease.

Now that I have declared victory, I dont have to respond to the
occasional live round lobbed over the border. Because I am victorious
by acclamation and my version of reality always bends to my will, all I
need do is send it to law enforcement so they, like me, can do nothing.
Law enforcement needs a DOOM CLOCK!!

As far as Im concerned, my participation in this war ended the day my

neurologist told me to knock it off. Which I did. I always do what my
doctor says, for as long as I can remember it before dementia wipes my
internal hard drive and re-boots my brain to its default state of
irrational hatred and perpetual victim
statusssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
my finger froze on the keyboard again. Damn you, McHog!
I took this blog offline altogether. I killed my personal and radio station
Twitter accounts (although, for some reason that isnt clear to me,
Twitter suspended them AFTER I deactivated them. As if hiding the vile
content doesnt automatically excuse the vileness of it? I dont get it.

Whatever). If the boys and girls wanna fight, they can fight with each
other. Except for McHog, that guy is like a pipe calling across the room
to a tweaker on a comedown. And PEManson54, Im never gonna give
up looking him (or her). Rain. Stephen Sherko, Kyle Kernan, Patrick
Grody, Tom Puzio, Jimmy Fletcher, SuperAlexanderHamilton, the
DimDimLibraryGirl.
Really, Ill probably backslide in just a couple of days and start baiting
and attacking the whole world. But Im not obsessed or a stalker or
anything like that. I can quit anytime I want. Seriously, Ive already
quit the whole internet four or five times just this year.
Anytime I want
I feel like Nagasaki must have felt after Fat Man. I was crushed,
flattened, burned to ashes and stone. But I survived, ugly, scarred,
covered with scars and pus-filled sores. I prevailed (I dont know what
that word means, but it sounds good). But I was damaged. Oh, brother,
was I damaged! Last time I was this damaged was after my father
punished me for going first in a game of Whack-Your-Brother-In-TheForehead-With-A-Ball-Peen-Hammer. That was the day before
Bobbers accident, and Dad blamed me until the day he died.
Repairing my damaged brain is a far more serious matter than
rebuilding a leveled city or repaving an entire nations infrastructure
and system of government. Because I am a screwed up individual.
Seriously. Small animals come onto my porch and vanish forever.
IYKWIMAITYD

Now that Ive moved the goalposts and declared victory over
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
crap, I froze again. Dammit! Where was I? Oh yes, McHog and his
mental-deficient LICKSPITTLES!!!
This false victory is sweet, but I must admit I do feel better. I dont feel
like I have a constant weight on my shoulders any more. Its more like a
series of small weights that rotate from a yoke on my shoulders to

manacles keeping my hands pinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnned to

the keyboard to shackles on my feet holding me in this ever more
cramped chair. I know law enforcement doesnt give a shit. They think
Im batshit; everyone does. I dont know why. Whatever, theyre all just
obsessed deranged cyberstalkers who envy my world class investigative
journalist skills and my tight relationship with Howard County Law
Enforcement. The cops always return my messages, but they never
answer my calls. I dont know why. Whatever. My friends in Shakeys
Legion of Invisible Midnight Experts (S.L.I.M.E) feel theyve done all
they can and that I am my own worst enemy. I dont know why.
Whatever. I no longer feel a need for revenge, but that crack pipe across
the room is whispering to me in its seductive voice: Bing! Youve got
mail. Even if I did, what good would that do when law enforcement
abrogates its primary responsibility to serve ME and protect ME from
all the imaginary threats I create or dream up? I dont know. Whatever.
So, the last several days have been peaceful. Good for my health. Made
my wife happy.
But oh, that computer crack pipe and its siren song.
Just now, my beloved made a delicious lunch of corned beef hash and
eggs. You know what I wanted, but Id had one for three days straight,
the mayonnaise was almost gone and my wife simply put her foot down.
When I was finished, I pushed myself to my feet, holding the plate in
one hand and leaning on my rolly walker with the other.
And I stood there, trying to puzzle out, through the fog of ongoing doxes
Id left behind in the pipeline, just what in the hell it was that I was
supposed to do next.
How in Gods name am I supposed to take a step while carrying an
empty dox box, trying to expose myself to a passing walker and push my
plate off the table, my brain puzzled. I stood there, unable to speak.
The computer whispered, just pretend youre investigating
PEManson54 and you want dox him. Dont let anything get in the

way!
You stuck? my wife asked.
I managed to say, Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
She came over, took the plate with some difficulty because I had
AHOLD of that damn thing out of my hand. My arm and hand just
stayed there, hanging in the air. She took my wrist and lowered my left
hand to the walker.
Nothing happened.
So she reared back and smacked me across the face with all her might. I
havent been hit that hard since the Bobber body-slammed me off the
top bunk one night when we were kids.
Hows that? she said, with a small, unmistakably satisfied grin.
That did it, I said, my teeth jiggling with my expansive gut. I took a
step.
Just one. Frozen again. This time, I concentrated hard on that next
step. Took it. Then, I was free. Gail walked into the kitchen with the
plate. I followed, but then felt myself tipping backwards. I had suddenly
made bigs and my center of gravity had shifted. I put the brakes on the
walker and managed to keep from falling. Stuck again. Concentrated.
Then, was able do the diaper-shuffle the rest of the way to the kitchen
and give my wife a thank you hug and kiss for the above average
lunch and for saving me with a smack in the mouth. (I wonder if Id be
a better man today if someone had smacked some sense into me when I
was younger. I dont know. Whatever.)
This is why I cannot be left alone. I have this mental image of Gail
going to work, I see her off, roll towards the kitchen with my empty
coffee cup and freeze. I roll right through the kitchen, out the front
door, flip right over the porch railing and land face first in the mud.
Im still frozen when she gets home, and covered in bird shit to boot.

The dogs have been circling like sharks, licking my bleeding wounds for
the past seven hours. At least theyve kept the coyotes and raccoons
away.
Nope. That cant happen. Even though my wife does make a fine
raccoon stew.
I saw a tweet today of someone comparing a video of me giving a fiveminute monologue me, a guy who cant speak more than a sentence
without stammering and stuttering, after 14 years of what MY DOCTOR
calls Advanced Parkinsons, compared to a woman who had the
thing for 32 years by that point. She had tremor. I do not. I have a gait.
And a white picket fence, and a little rose garden out back. And dont
tell anybody, but sometimes I get brown paper wrapped packages with
no return address and spend the day doxing people dressed in the
skimpiest, most frilly and beautifully sexy silk underthings you could
possibly imagine! Ooh! I get shivers just thinking about it.
Therefore, according to the idiot who tweeted the video, I have no
business saying I have Advanced Parkinsons disease.
Maybe if my gait had some tremor. Then they would think I was faking
that, too. Believe me, its true. Just as true the identity of Kyle Kernan,
of Tom Puzio Sr., of @guntotingteabagger, and especially of
@embryriddlealum, whom I have correctly identified and exposed at
least six different times.
So there. Nya
OK. I had graduated from mocking dead family members to mockery of
disabled people, especially those with Parkinsons disease. And if Pay Pal
made a sound like a cash register every time you got a donation, it would
have sounded like The Carol of the Bells at my house.
If you had just stumbled onto that blog and read that post and didnt know
a thing about any of this stuff, you would naturally assume that a
developmentally-disabled child had snuck in some unsupervised

computer time. But my audience or red-meat eating wingnuts loved it.

They started coming up with their own nicknames for me. I could picture
them at a professional wrestling match holding up signs saying YOU
SUCK, PERVOCAMPUS!
Even a scam artist is, in his black heart, an artist. I was feeling restrained
by the character I had created. Limited. I needed to break away from
writing about this fabricated version of myself in the first person. I
decided to write about this fabricated version of myself in the third
person. I decided to review a book I had just released with the title,
Axis of Weasels.

Axis of Weevils
Posted: May 22, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

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 didnt make
this mistake. YOU DID.
FIX IT.
AND QUIT WHINING TO US ABOUT IT.
SHUT UP.
Thats 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 elses 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 its 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-

Im-probably-about-to-screw-the-pooch-here-and-should-reallyrethink-this-course-of-action line then its 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 (CTRLC/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 newspapers limited usage who ran in a local election in 2011.
Amazon, CreateSpace and Lulu.com didnt 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
peoples 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
theyre 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 cant be bothered
with, to protect themselves against his bad faith, plagiarism and
outright theft instead of subjecting it to the quick death of postpublication takedown notices.
Publication Date: May 21 2014 through May 25 2014
(best case scenario)
ISBN/EAN13: 1864920074/23821864920072 (I made
those up)
Page Count: 174 (what a coincidence!)

Binding Type: Chained In A Small Box Under The

House With Holes For Air
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!

Thanks For Putting Axis of Weevils

on the NYT Bestseller List
Posted: May 23, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

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 cant afford the expense of writing a real book, Im
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,
youve spent 10, put 4 in my pocket, and if it gets pulled from the
shelf computer Ill 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 Ill be goddamned if
Im 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 dont forget the desperate and incurable
INTENTIONAL INFLICTION OF EPIC HEMORRHOIDAL
BUTTHURT, which I secretly enjoy, and isnt THAT pretty strange for
guy who spends all his time on his ass to begin with) why dont 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? Its what you really want
anyway, and look, I finally found a way to monetize something everyone
wants me to do anyway!
Doesnt that make good sense?
Unless it really is all about the butthurt (mmmmI do love the butt
stuff!), in which case, rock on..
Ah yes. As far as the Krendlerverse was concerned, Bill Parvocampus
was a certified, card-carrying, 55-gallon drum of AstroGlide-owning,
anal rape enthusiast. And it was true, because Krendler said so.
This stems from an essay I published under my own name on a liberal
website in 2013.
Male conservatives are convinced that gay men want to put their pee-pees in THEIR Pooter
Holes! This is a horrifying prospect to your average, stupid male. This is why a blanket
recognition that being gay is a normal variant of human sexuality, to these small, frightened,
uneducated men, means society is saying it's OK for these gay men to put their willy-wallys in
YOUR winky-winky!
Follow the logic.
Most stupid men, married or otherwise, enjoy pornography. They enjoy watching men with
their throbbing, erect whatchamacallits do degrading thing to women with them. Slapping them

on the face with it. Spanking them with it. Making them sing into it like a microphone. Stirring
their drinks with it. There is no orifice on a woman's body that is safe from the probing,
pulsating prongs on the popular pornos. And that includes the pooter hole. There's a whole
SUBSET of pornography DEVOTED to anal sex. They give an AWARD at the ADULT VIDEO
AWARDS each year to the actress involved in the most erotic Anal Sex scene.
So, it's not anal sex (as a concept) to which these small, frightened men object.
Heck, if you're a man and you're honest with yourself, you LIKE being on the "doling it
out" end of anal sex. How many heterosexual men reading this diary right now have never
asked their wife or girlfriend to just take a deep breath, relax, "I'll just put in the tip and we'll see
how it goes," and then you ram it home like Captain Kidd jamming his sword back into his
scabbard while she hollers"takeitouttakeitouttakeitout" and you tell her to just relax and it won't
hurt so bad and she starts kicking and screaming "takeitOUTtakeitOUTtakeitOUT
youfuckingbastardpieceofshit" and you finally do (because the walls are thin and your
neighbors just LOVE calling the cops) and you tell her she should have at least given herself a
chance to relax and enjoy it and she (if she's your wife) doesn't let you anywhere near her with
"that thing" for weeks and if she's your girlfriend she stops returning your calls?
So. We've established we have no problem with the theory of anal sex. Or the theory of oral
sex, for that matter. If you're clean and perform proper hygienic maintenance "down there",
most women will be more than happy from time to time to engage in this particular activity.
And fellows, you know that this is a two-way street, right? T'is well and good to give and
receive.
So, no problem with oral sex.
Same sex? Shoot, that's fine too! As long as it's woman on woman.
This is as old as time itself. Why do you think the Bible not only authorizes but condones
multiple wives for the biblical patriarchs? Because after a hard day of patriarching, there's
nothing a patriarch likes better than to come home to watch some hot "wife on wife"
action (they didn't have Blu-Ray or DVDs then) before jumping into the wife pile.
Now, with our modern technology, we love watching the ladies do other ladies. If you are
married or in a relationship and your wife or girlfriend comes home with an attractive friend,
and says" Happy Birthday, honey" as she and her friend peel off their clothes revealing their
Victoria's Secret scanties as they hop onto the bed and start kissing and fooling around for
awhile before beckoning you to join them, would you throw your hands up in Conservative
horror and quote Leviticus? NO! You'd be on that bed, living the dream!

Oh HAPPY day! What a HAPPY day!
So. Let's review. It's not anal sex as a practice that we find loathsome. Nor is it oral sex. Same
sex is not a problem either, as long as those same sexes happen to be two or more women.
(Ever wonder why the Bible never condoned a woman having more than one husband? I think
it was comedian Wanda Sykes who asked if anyone had ever come home from work to find his

wife watching a man-on-man porno saying, "Yeah, baby. Ooooh. He likes that, doesn't he?
Oh, yeah, baby. Give it to him!")
Therefore, if the Conservative male has no problem with anal sex, oral sex or same sex sex,
why the problem with Gay Marriage?
It can't be the reason they constantly give, "because it threatens the sanctity of marriage."
I've been married three times. My wife #3 and I have been together since 1988. The first two
failed because I was married to women who couldn't keep their pants on when I was not
around. "Teh Gay" had nothing to do with it.
So, the real reason people are against Gay Marriage comes down to one of two things.
1. You are a closeted homosexual, self-loathing, raised in a household that forbade and
punished "those kinds of thoughts". You have repressed these feelings, have gotten married
and have children but can only find real sexual satisfaction with the kind of anonymous sex
initiated with a game of "tappy toe" in a Minneapolis Airport Bathroom. Or,
2. You are ignorant heterosexual who -- because YOU would gladly fuck a warm piece of
liver if no one was looking -- believes that all gay men will find YOU attractive and want to
force their sexual attentions on YOU! Men over 40 don't even like going to the doctor because
they know the doc will stick a well-lubricated, gloved finger "up there." The idea of being run
to ground by hordes of pantless gay men with their throbbing manhoods acting like divining
wands in the search for "virgin ass" terrifies you. And you KNOW that's the next step. You
KNOW that's what gays REALLY want... not monogamous relationships with people they love.
Hell, YOU have a monogamous relationship with someone YOU love and yet every time you
go out of town on a business trip you're balls deep in some hooker you met on Craigslist by
11:13 pm! That's why you're against gays in the military. All gays want to have sex with YOU!
You just KNOW it. So if you were in the Army and had to take a shower with GAY people
looking at you, it would be a constant battle to maintain your anal virginity. If you were in a
FOXHOLE (God forbid) with a GAY, then nobody would be securing the perimeter because
you would be too busy securing your ANUS against this GAY guy who you just KNOW wants
to fuck you. Oh sure, he's sitting over there nice and quiet and writing a letter to his sister. But
YOU know what he's thinking. HE'S thinking about waiting until you're asleep, sliding down
your fatigues and DOING THINGS to you!
THAT is the problem with gay marriage. It's not the fact that it's same sex have sex with the
same sex (as long as it's only women). It's not that anal sex is disgusting, because who hasn't
tried to get away with it at least once in a heterosexual relationship (sorry, honey... I missed!) or
that we find oral sex to be immoral and de facto sodomy (which we don't even when we say we
do).
The bottom line (giggle) is that stupid straight people are scared that rampaging hoards of
GAYS are going to ATTACK THEM and FORCE THEIR wing wangs up their pooter holes and
OBAMA SAYS IT'S OK NOW!

THAT'S the problem!

Once Krendler let his readers know about this essay, this particular
website probably got more right winger hits than it had in years. The
pebble had again been tossed into the big, muddy puddle of stupid.
Krendlers fame, built as it was on my infamy because of my
friendship with Timmerman (who, in all honesty, I have seen in person
maybe a dozen times) spread like fire through a field of mummified right
wing assholes.
Now theres a picture.

3.

HOGGY GOES ROGUE

As a money making idea, the blog was a pretty fair scheme. But Hoggy
didnt think it was realizing its full potential.
What we need here is a lawsuit, he said in a late spring 2014 phone
call. He told me to leave everything to him. Which I did. Which, in
retrospect, was a mistake.
Since I had published portions of Krendlers blog in book form, Hoggy
drew up some pretend legal papers indicating that Krendler had some
the world book and e-book rights to a particular blog post I used in my
book. Then, as the rights holder for that blog entry, he sued me in Federal
Court for Copyright Infringement.
He asked for $620,000 and I had no choice but to play along. I made sure
Krender unintentionally aided in my defense.

An Open Letter to Bill Parvocampus

Posted: May 24, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

Over at BlubberSuesBloggers, Flynn has posted a letter from Bill

Parvocampus.
It reminded me of something I wrote back when he was having issues
with copyright ownership of the first post on this blog.
It had been a comment but grew too long. I put it aside and by the time
I came back to it the moment had passed. But Bills strange letter to
Flynn deserves a response. So here it is, after the jump:
Dear Bill,
Because youre nice, I am going to explain this. In short words that
anyone, including the Howard County MD Sheriffs Department, can

see and understand without them passing through your victimization

filter.
Lets begin at the beginning; a beginning that, in your interactions with
me on Twitter on April 30, 2014, you seem more than determined to
ignore.
On March 26th, 2014, you published a post at Patriot-Ombudsman.com
entitled Gotta Hand It to McHog -- He Knows How To Drive Traffic.
In short, it was a long piece of what you believe qualifies as satire. In
it, you make fun not only of John McHog III, but also of his wife and
his son with specificity and detail. To call it vulgar is accurate. To call
it humorous is questionable, but all humor is a matter of opinion
dependent on the audience. To call it mean-spirited is understatement.
To call it satire is a falsehood.
Satire, Bill, has a point. An overarching theme. A message. It uses the
vulgarity, the mean-spiritedness and the humor to convey a statement
on some aspect of the human condition. Your post conveys no message.
Your satire is utterly blunt and without point. What sharpness there is,
exists only to injure and draw blood, rather than to inject and impart
wisdom. As satire, it is a failure.
Perhaps it was that realization that caused you to remove it. Perhaps it
was fear that John McHog would see it as harassment, as a violation of
the standing Peace Order prohibiting contact. Or perhaps you feared
that it could be used as evidence in a libel action. Any of these could be
a valid reason, or none of them. It doesnt matter. What does matter is
that one day it was there, and the next day it was gone. Fortunately, as
you like to say when you are in a doxing mood, Good thing I took a
screencap, huh? Also fortunate is the fact that you have admitted in
the comments of another post here that you are the author.

Actually, it was a text capture my smartphone does still have some
limitations, but why quibble? I kept it because I believe you show an
ever-escalating spiral of poor online behavior. Another of your

many btes noires, Robert Stacy McCain, has aptly described it: Bill
Parvocampus seeks attention. Bill Parvocampus gets attention. Bill
Parvocampus claims victimhood.
So here was part 1: Bill Parvocampus seeks attention by attacking the
entire McHog family, husband, wife and son. Very strange it was, too,
to see attacks on family members by the same Bill Parvocampus who
condemns in the STRONGEST. POSSIBLE. TERMS! attacks on his
own family members as beyond the bounds of propriety.
For others. Always for others. Never for you.
And it was after several more weeks of your standard online
behavior, Bill Parvocampus seeks attention, Bill Parvocampus gets
attention, Bill Parvocampus claims victimhood, that I decided
something needed to be done.
Among other things, you continued to post epic falsehoods about your
many doxing targets, only to vanish them after the lies (that you
NEVER, EVER tell) were pointed out to you. You do realize that you are
ALWAYS too late, dont you? You do understand that for every blog
post, tweet and comment you screen cap, there are probably ten people
capturing everything you do in return?
And when have you ever apologized for being wrong?
Say, just as an aside, have you tracked down Patrick Grodys firearms
training permit yet?
(Yup, I have that post too.)
Since your horse-assery has already appeared elsewhere on this blog, I
dont think its necessary to print it again.
Bill, let us take a moment to review. The original toilet humor is yours,
not mine. The original sexual references to John McHog and to John
McHog IV are yours, not mine. The original alcoholic wife
references are yours, not mine. The original mockery of commenters is

yours, not mine.

The entire original post is yours, not mine. When I first posted the
parody version, I noted that fact in the post. Because I still own all
rights other than the world book and e-book rights to the post, I need no
ones permission to quote exactly what I said:
Now, as most rational people would understand, copying and pasting an
entire blog post wholesale (with or without the 100+ attached
comments) is a plain and obvious violation of copyright. So, we will not
do so here.
What we will do is note that it was this satirical post which provided
the inspiration to create another blog, dedicated to a single purpose:
seeking out the stankiest, most nasty turds on the internet, and
polishing them until they shine like brown nuggets of comedy gold.
This is your post, not mine. As such, I assumed that having posted it,
you must not find it libelous, harassing, defamatory or tortious in any
other manner. You always seem to have an eye out for that sort of
thing, you see. Perhaps I was incorrect in making that assumption. If
you took it down because you decided that it was in some way tortious,
then we both made mistakes you by posting it, and me by parodying it.
The overarching fact which remains, Bill, is that the source material
still exists, and you are the author.
The original act which set this chain of events in motion was
perpetrated by Bill Parvocampus, and no other.
As such, can we agree that actions lead inexorably to consequences?
That every action has an equal and opposite reaction? When you hit
the POST button, you sank into your sweaty-palmed happy place, if only
for a short while before regaining your senses and deleting the post, but
at the same time, you offended someones sensibilities to a sufficient
degree that, in our The Internet Is Forever world, you guaranteed
that your post would be saved eternally, until it could be reversed on you
at an opportune moment.

That it was I who saved your post is merely fate.

So, we determined that your words, your thoughts, and your peculiar,
narrow notions of humor and satire, had ripened.
With a couple other people I know, we created a private blog. I have
described it generally above; I will go no further. I am the chief
moderator of that blog, and I decide who gets access. The list is small
and exclusive and appreciative of very particular kinds of humor
primarily parody of other works. The parody to which Mr. McHog now
owns partial rights is one such. This parody, a work based entirely on
your now-deleted post, is as original as Mel Brooks Young
Frankenstein, while still based on Mary Shelleys original tale. It is as
original as The Carol Burnett Shows Gone With the Wind parody
sketch, while still based on Margaret Mitchells novel.
As I see it, Bill, you are now faced with another problem. I have
parodied your original work, taken it and turned all the characters on
their heads, while leaving in place all the sharp, biting, vicious and
ultimately pointless humor. Some observers might say I improved on it
by making it even moreso; others may disagree. Thats the nature of
humor its all a matter of opinion.

Parody is a much different art than satire. As I said before, satire has a
point, a message; parody does not. Parody exists to exaggerate for the
sake of humor. It takes a prior work and inflates it to monstrous
proportions, thereby turning drama, or melodrama, to comedy. And as
parody, I believe mine was brilliant. Obviously, you disagree. You find
it more filthy than
yours, moreharassing, more pornographic, more vile, more insulting, mo
everything than yours.
Unfortunately, for you to maintain that my parody is filthy, harassing,
pornographic, vile, insulting and libelous, is to admit that your post is
as well. Its hardly a position of strength.
Which brings us to the subject of copyright.

Your post is yours. It belongs to you. Its your copyrighted work. Its
also gone from your blog. Theres an inherent contradiction in that. I
can parody your post because I saved it, but you have no standing to
challenge it as a violation without admitting what you and I, and John,
and now anyone who reads this knows: you also published a filthy,
harassing, pornographic, vile, insulting and libelous post.
On the other hand, my post is mine. It belongs to me. Its my
copyrighted work. And it remains, proudly, posted at both this blog, as
of April 23rd, 2014, and at the private blog, where it is nearly a month
old. Theres a difference between those posts, though, and its a
difference which, like the opening act of this little play, you seem
determined to ignore with all your might.
There is a long, thorough and very descriptive disclaimer, which
informs the reader of the following:
1. This is based on a post from your blog dated March 26, 2014
2. You started the post by calling it a piece of creative fiction
(and by the way, that one sentence quote was textbook Fair Use)
3. Your post is consistent with what you label elsewhere as
satire
4. Your post is a very poor example of satire because it has no
point to convey
5. Your post was removed because you are a dishonorable
coward
6. We would not be reproducing your post because, as you had
learned in your previous book, to do so is a copyright violation
7. We have parodied the post elsewhere on a private blog, and if
the reader is likely to be offended, they can cordially piss off. I
quote: Dont start nuthin, there wont be nuthin.
8. Given your continued efforts to remove error-strewn and/or
ill-advised posts from your blog with neither explanation nor
apology, we decided it was time to show off for the masses.
9. Finally, a large and clear warning that GRAPHIC

DESCRIPTIONS followed, and you proceed at your own peril.

Given your thorough prior knowledge of the situation, I have no doubt
that you expected what followed. And yet, since I started my
post almost exactly as you did:
(A PIECE OF CREATIVE FICTION IN LOVING TRIBUTE TO A
CERTAIN FELLOW IN ELKRIDGE, MD AS I IMAGINE HIS
HOMELIFE.)
am I not entitled to the exact same protection from charges that my
parody is filthy, harassing, pornographic, vile, insulting and libelous, as
you would without doubt claim, and in fact have claimed in the past, for
yourself? Its just a joke, Ken and Lee! Its just (pick one: sarcasm,
satire, humor, etc.) Dont you know a joke when you read one? I think
we can agree that you would make that claim, and I think we can
agree that I must be entitled to it as well. Reciprocity in all things.
Fair, as they say, is fair.
Did I violate a copyright by writing that parody? Its very hard to make
that case. The original satire directed at the McHog family is published
nowhere but on this blog; the copyright is by all rights, mine. How can
you prove you ever held a copyright without admitting that you
published it first? Would you really subject yourself to the legal
repercussions of that? I suggest you engage an attorney before
embarking on that course.
Did you violate a copyright by taking the entire parody from this blog
and including it in your book? Its very easy to make that case. First,
the original copyright on that work clearly belongs to me, as of its
publication date of April 23, 2014. Second, in your book Intentional
Infection, at the very start of the first paragraph, you note todays date
as April 24th, 2014. Parenthetically, this makes it difficult to argue, as
you did on Twitter and several deleted blog posts, that the publication
date of your book is also April 23, 2014. Additionally, on page 5, you
identify me, by name, as the author of the post you are quoting, and you
practically invite me to sue you for theft of copyrighted material. Bill,

would you not agree that it is very hard to maintain that your extract
falls under the Fair Use Doctrine when you recognize and admit the
possibility of a copyright violation in your own words? Yes, yes, I know,
I know: Its just a joke, Paul! Its just (pick one: sarcasm, satire,
humor, etc.) Dont you know a joke when you read one?
Well, even so.
The quoted portion of the post which you use made up more than 12
pages of Chapter 1, while your original work consumed less than 3
pages. That same quoted section, which you claim falls under the Fair
Use Doctrine, makes up 2,163 words of a 2,745 word post.
Mathematically speaking, thats exactly 79%.
Fair use? Really?
Lets talk a little bit about that.
On Twitter, you mentioned a four pillar balancing test. (By the way, I
notice that you went from polite to rather nasty in a very short span
while I was eating dinner and ignoring my phone. Are you 59 years old
or 3?) I found a good explanation of that test at the LegalZip site. The
four pillars are:
1. Purpose and Character of use theres a sort of scale of
permissibility, with educational/personal/non-profit use on the
safer end, criticism, commentary and/or news reporting in the
center, and for-profit use on the riskier side. I think its safe to say
you have no real risk here as the stated purpose of the work is to
raise awareness about cyberbullying and to raise funds for the
National Parkinsons Foundation. However, if it were to come to a
court of law, I think we both know that John McHog and I would
both seek to make the argument that your book was nothing more
than another act in your eternal pity-me-Im-a-victim play. And I
think we would have some success in that, given the depth and
breadth of available evidence. But I digress you say its not for
profit, I have bigger fish to fry.

2. Nature of the Copyrighted Work is the copyrighted work

factual or fiction? Again, I dont think you have any great risk on
this point.
3. Amount and Substantiality of the Portion used from the
Copyrighted Work how much of the copyrighted work did you
use? This also works on a sliding scale, and the less you use, the
better off you are. That said, even if you use one copyrighted
sentence, you can be guilty of infringement of a copyrighted work,
if that one sentence is the most significant part of a novel. You
made an example of Moby Dick (and a very poor example it was,
too), but to be fair, if you want to publish a novel whose opening
sentence is Call me Ishmael, Herman Melvilles estate is going
to want a word with you. Given the facts of this specific case, that
you have taken 79% of my post and made it more than 80% of your
Chapter 1, those numbers are not going to play in your favor. This
is the cliff over which you have figuratively thrown yourself.
4. Effect on the Value of the Copyrighted Work how can
money be made off of the copyrighted work? In this case, I didnt
have much interest in making money, but that does not mean there
is not an income stream to be developed now or at some time in the
future. Because the post belongs to me, that income stream also
belongs to me, and any attempt to corrupt or divert revenue away
from me (or John McHog) is a violation. The following is a quote
from the article: Because of this factor, its generally a very good
idea to stay away from using any copyrighted materials that could
take away money that could be earned by the copyright owner. In
fact, the best option is usually to get written permission from the
copyright owner to use the work prior to using the work yourself. If
its impossible to get permission (or find the copyright owner) to
use the work, you may want to avoid using the work altogether,
unless the fair use doctrine clearly applies. Finally, its usually a
good idea to consult with an attorney in cases of doubt.
Bill, your Fair Use claim simply doesnt pass the smell test. We both

know it. And so does John.

So, why does John own the world book and e-book rights to that post?
Because I sold them to him. Theres a contract and everything. Its
simple but legal. A private contract between two parties. You do not
have the right to see it, and you will not see it. Whether it has my real
name on it or not is irrelevant. Ill get to that later.
Your next obvious question must be, why did I sell him the rights?
There are several reasons.
1. In my opinion, you stole my work. You may think otherwise,
but you are wrong, and a court will agree.
2. Worse than stealing my work, you stripped the context. It
was parody, clearly identified as parody, parody of your own work,
but that didnt paint you correctly as the victim, did it? So you
stripped that context out like the spineless coward you are.
3. Even then I might have let it slide, but you know you violated
the copyright. You said so right on page 5. You as much as dared
me to come get you. So, I found a way to make it happen.
4. I intend to remain anonymous for a multitude of reasons.
Thats why, before John suggested I sell the rights to him, I asked
if it was possible to file a DCMA Takedown under a pseudonym (it
is by the way, but there is still a chance of exposure). John
suggested that I use an agent, but that was too much time and
trouble for me to even investigate. Then he asked for a follow and
offered to buy the limited rights. #SoSorryNotSorry if thats
inconvenient for you, but those are the breaks. You pays your
money, you takes your chances.
5. John is obviously more motivated to follow through and get
the desired result.
6. Perhaps most importantly, you need every possible reminder
that if you cant run with the big dogs, you better stay on the porch.
Lastly, I want to list for you the specific reasons I wish to remain

anonymous. It is by no means an exhaustive list, but it may help you

understand the deeper reasons for this whole episode.
1. Kyle Kernan
2. Tom Puzio Sr.
3. Battina Harper
4. Jimmy Kinsey
5. Patrick Grody
6. Chris Heater
7. Roy Annes
8. Robin Wesley
9. Nancy Griffin
10. Lee Strannyham
I can only guess how many more; those are just the reasons I came up
with off the top of my head.
You are a fool if you think I would ever send you an email, or not
actively work to prevent you learning my real name. And quite frankly,
even if you dont think that, youre still a fool.
Now, in closing, I want to say just a couple more things; first, I hope
you realize that this letter is here so that anyone can see that you have
been treated as an adult and not as a disabled victim. You have not
been bullied, nor have I given in to your own pathetic attempt to bully
me.
For the record, when you say Give me X or I will do Y, thats textbook
bully behavior. It doesnt matter if X is school lunch money or a copy of
a contract or my real name, and it doesnt matter if Y is an ass-kicking
by the bike racks after school or reporting someone to law enforcement
or doxing them because youre pissed off at them for getting the best of
you.
Its still bullying. Even if you are a homebound, indigent retiree with no
self-control, its still bullying.

While you may be tempted to cut and paste from this post as you did
from the other, I urge you not to do so. My going rate for copyright sale
is very affordable, and the line of people who wont mind buying the
chance to do this all over again is forming already. The second thing I
wanted to say is that in my last communication to you on Twitter, I did
say that I would get you the information you need. I apologize for
taking so long to get to it, but let me now share with you, not what
you want which is what you were asking for but what you really
need.
1. You need to print this post;
2. You need to roll the pages into a cylindrical shape;
3. You need to then fold the ends together to make a sort of
doughnut shape;
4. You need to dunk that doughnut in a steaming hot mug of
STFU;
5. You need to eat that doughnut;
6. You need to wait about eight to twelve hours;
7. And finally, you need to just blow it out your ass.
Sincerely yours,
Paul Krendler
The Thinking Mans Zombie
As profitable as this Krendler gig had become, it was just too much of a
job to maintain it. As a serious writer, I wanted to do serious writing in
my own name. Writing about real things that meant something to me. I
found that as I wrote, this Krendler lobe in my brain would chime in and
try to throw me off track. I wrote an article for Alan The Guy Who Used
to Sit Next to Hannity Colmes website, one of several some serious,
some satirical. Then I let Krendler tell his readership about this little free
writing gig Parvocampus had. First, the actual article.
-0-

Publishers note: This is Bill Parvocampus view. We, at Liberaland,

enjoy presenting a variety of views, not all of which reflect those of the
sites staff and management.
I learned this lesson a little too late. Too late for my health, too late for
my reputation, just too late. But not too late to pass some advice on to our
readership and those of you who are righteously outraged by the filth
being smeared on your computer screens by the right wing haters,
misogynists, racists and fools.
What I am about to show you should make you physically ill.
Todd Kincannon, the slack-jawed idiot who said that Richard Martinezs
son, Chris, died cowering like a bitch because Daddy didnt buy him
a gun.
Try to hold your gorge down when you look at this.
Todd, who Zombies would walk right by without even sniffing as they
search for brains to eat, is writing a book. He asked his followers to
contribute. And MAN, did they contribute!

A racist, misogynist, hate-filled, feces-flinging merchant of disease, Todd

Kincannon. He got 184% of the money he wanted to create his book of
poisonous incantations of evil.
We progressives. What weak saplings we are. Todd Kincannon, a lawyer,
probably with a hefty bank account, the former Executive Director of the
South Carolina Republican Party, the former chairman of the election
commission in Simpsonville, S.C., a man who calls the voters in his
district sheep

A tiny, disgusting little man who likes to brag about his gun, and Im not

talking about a weapon that shoots bullets although Im fairly sure one is
the same as the other to Todd

This man who was profiled, and not very nicely, by Time
Magazine yesterday and is BRAGGING about it, collecting high fives
from mouth-breathing slobber drinkers, male and female alike?
He runs a little hashtag of his own. Its called #TGDN. The Twitter Gulag
Defense Network. It was created by Tiny Todd, and he posts a set of rules
for his fellow free speech lovers.

#TGDN is more than just a method for conservative Tweeters to break

Twitter rules and get away with it. They use it as a weapon against
progressive Tweeters they dont like. If you post something that a

conservative determines is wrongthink, they will privately tweet to

everyone they know and ask them to tweet to everyone THEY know, and
swear on a stack of Necronomicons that YOU, the innocent progressive
Tweeter, have been inundating them with SPAM. Twitter will not bother
to check. They will just suspend you without asking questions.
Meanwhile, Twitters who, lets say, abuse images of dead relatives that
youve reported to Twitter? They go merrily tweeting on their way.
We progressives are pathetic. We can organize a drum circle. But can we
stop the eventual and inevitable decline of America into an oligarchy?
We can write op-eds, but can we counter the hive-mind mentality of the
low income white male who thinks that the Koch Brothers give a crap
about them? We argue with people like Todd Kincannon, and they wear
our disgust like a badge of honor.
Heres a suggestion.
SHUN them. Use their words, but dont throw them back in their faces.
Complain to Twitter. Complain to Facebook. Tell everyone YOU know to
complain to Twitter. Tell them that these people are spreading hateful
messages. Tell them you are offended by their profanity. Write letters to
the editor at your local newspaper. Call your local right wing talk show.
Pretend to be a conservative to get past the screener, then lay it on people
like Todd Kincannon. Find out how he makes his money. Who is
sponsoring him? Who is paying him to say these things? How is it he can
stay home all day and write these horrible, hateful things?
TGDN.org is registered through GoDaddy. Contact GoDaddy. They have
links to report abuse. If that doesnt do the trick, tell GoDaddy that you
hold them responsible for every word Kincannon writes and every death
of every man or woman killed by someone who is inspired by his words.
Contact IndieGoGo.
I did. Write something like this.

On the Contact Us form. I wrote

Is it a violation of your TOS to use Indie GoGo to raise money for a
racist, anti-woman, anti-freedom book being written to inspire
hatred? If it is not a violation of your TOS, could you explain why you
allow your service to be used to raise money by people like this guy,
an avowed racist, a filth-merchant, a person who hates women? Is
that the kind of customer you want? Because that is all that will be
left to you if a boycott is organized against IndieGoGo.
I added the URL of Kincannons project. You do the same. It is
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/todd-kincannon-s-book-uselessidiots-the-proper-care-and-feeding-of-liberals2.
Heres his website. Make him poisonous to customers.

Oddly enough, his website is also hosted by GoDaddy.

Or, do nothing. We liberals are GREAT at that. We do nothing better

than ANYONE!
I believe the only way to make these First Amendment warriors pay for
the crimes committed because of their misguided love and
misunderstanding of the Second Amendment is to hit them where they
live. To make their hate COST them something.
Kincannon enjoys being called names. You throw mud (or something
stinkier) at him, he rubs it all over his face. He wants you to know just
how disgusting he really is, so you wont fight back.
And if you wont fight back, they win.
The First Amendment says only that the government cant tell him what
to say, what to think, who to pray to. It doesnt say he gets to have a
Twitter account, a Facebook account, a GoDaddy account, or raise money
on IndieGogo. We have to shame those who can still feel shame.
Kincannon is not one of them. I believe that if enough people hammer
Twitter, Facebook, GoDaddy, IndieGogo and anyone who does any
business whatsoever with Todd Kincannon, they will not want to be
associated with the things he says. He will lose his platform. And he can
stand on a street corner and yell at people, until the cops take him away
for causing a disturbance.
Dont engage him. Dont talk to him. Dont argue with him.
Take action. Shut him down. Shut down the people who support him. Its
the only thing that will work.
-0Once it was published, all Krendler had to do was change a word here
and there.
-0-

Parvocampus Wants To Be Shut

Down, Not Argued With
Posted: May 30, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

Publishers note: This is Bill Parvocampuss view. We, at The Thinking

Mans Zombie, enjoy parodying Bill Parvocampus by taking his words
and twisting them back on his fat, stinky ass. But sometimes, God
provides an epic bit of dumbassery that requires little but to change
names and visual aids.
I learned this lesson a little too late. Too late for my health, too late for
my reputation, just too late. But not too late to pass some advice on to my
reader (Gail) and those of you imaginary and or accidental readers who
are righteously outraged by the filth smeared on your computer screens
by the haters, misogynists, homophobes, anal rape enthusiasts and fools.
But enough about me.
What I am about to show you should make you physically ill. I hope.

Bill Parvocampus, the slack jawed idiot who said that Lee Stranahans
daughter died because Daddy didnt want her born in a hospital.
(Wait why does that sentence ring so strangely in your ear? Oh! Thats
it because the 30-year veteran journalist were parodying forgot to use
a fucking verb in the primary clause of the sentence! Slack jawed idiot)
Bill, who (its whom, you enormous sack of rotting rat guts) Zombies
would stop on the sidewalk to point and laugh at because he doesnt
KNOW anyone with a brain, let alone have one of his own theyd bother
to eat, has written a book. He asked his follower to contribute. And JUST
LOOK at how they came through!
A bigoted, misogynist, hate-filled, feces-flinging merchant of disease, Bill
Parvocampus. He got exactly 0.00% of the money he wanted to defend his
latest CTRL-C/CTRL-V patchwork against the certain DMCA takedowns

that would surely follow publication of his latest poisonous incantations

of evil.
Silly Progressives. What weak saplings they are. Bill Parvocampus, a
drummed-out former minuscule and easily replaced cog in the massive
government machinery, probably with a non-existent bank account, the
former Temporary Almost Legitimate President-Elect of the National
Bloggers Club, six hundred thirty-seven consecutive times winner of the
Free Trial Period Internet Radio Station of the Month, a writer (we-ell)
so skilled the most creative insult he can come up with for his enemies is
lickspittle
A monstrously obese, disgusting lard-barrel of a man who likes to whine
incessantly about his disease, and Im not talking about his obvious and
multiple mental issues, although Im fairly sure Bill would violently deny
that he feels frequent urges to hurt small animals and to punch his unit
into holes where it was never designed to go
This man who was profiled, and not very factually, by inveterate liar
Karoli Kuns at the appropriately named website Crooks and Liars and
BRAGGED about it, collecting high fives from mouth-breathing scumbag
drainers, male and female alike?
He runs a little hashtag of his own. Its called #BPFN. The Bill
Parvocampus Failure Network. It was created by Depends-A-Bill, and he
posts a set of rules for his fellow free speech lovers.
1. Get Started! Here is the #BPFN list to follow: All 50 of Bill
Parvocampuss Twitter handles and sock puppets.
2. Stuck on 50. If you cannot follow or attract more than 50 followers, do
not worry. This is simply Bill Parvocampuss fail-stench wafting over you
and infecting your Twitter life. Soon it will take over your real life as
well, and you will be sorry you ever heard of him.
3. Responding to Conservative trolls. Just dont. The fact that you count
Bill Parvocampus as an ally is ample proof that every last one is ten
times smarter than you.

4. Suspension. If your account has been suspended, well, youre hanging

with Bill Parvocampus, so you probably deserve it. Shut up and go to
back up.
5. Get Help. No, seriously. Get. Help. Bill Parvocampus is a friend of
yours? You really need to get help.
6. Are you being reported for Spam? Well, its probably a righteous beef
(and ham) hybrid product in a can, as well as a contemptible thing to do
on Twitter. Bill Parvocampus, yknow. Shut up, go to back up.
#BPFN is more than just a method for progressive losers to get together
on Twitter and share epic tales of butthurt. They also use it as a means of
promoting really bad radio stations. If you, a member of #BPFN, post
something that a standard intelligence progressive determines is
stupid and trust me, that threshold Id LOW INDEED they will
privately tweet to everyone they know and ask them to tweet to everyone
THEY know, and swear on a stack of Alinskys Rules for Radicals that
YOU, the pro-Parvocampusian #BPFN progressive Tweeter, have been
inundating them with SPAM. Twitter will not bother to check. They will
just suspend you without asking questions. Meanwhile, Twitters who, lets
say, heap upon you an extra super-sized helping of butthurt because you
are fool enough to let everybody know the one button to push to really
drive you absolutely batshit? They go merrily tweeting on their way.
Progressives are pathetic. We can organize a drum circle. But can we
accelerate the eventual and inevitable decline of America into a socialist
dystopia? We can write op-eds, but can we maintain the hive-mind
mentality of the low information voter who thinks that any Democratic
elected official gives a crap about them, especially in the face of
mountain upon mountain of contrary evidence? Argue with morons like
Bill Parvocampus, and they wear their ignorance like a badge of honor.
Heres a suggestion.
SHUN him. Use his words (because the best way to discredit Bill
Parvocampus), throw them back in his face. Complain to Twitter.
Complain to Facebook. Tell everyone YOU know to complain to Twitter.

Tell them that this person is spreading hateful messages. Tell them you
are offended by his profanity. Write letters to the editor at your local
newspaper. Call your local government subsidized left wing talk show.
Talk about your feeeeelings to get past the screener, then lay it on people
like Bill Parvocampus. Find out how he makes his money. Who is
sponsoring him? Who is paying him to say these things? How is it he can
stay home all day and write these horrible, hateful things?
BPSFN.org is registered through McHogIsMyDaddy. Contact
McHogIsMyDaddy. They have links to report abuse. If that doesnt do the
trick, tell McHogIsMyDaddy that you hold them responsible for every
word Parvocampus writes and every tear shed by every man or woman
who haz a sadz because of his words.
Contact PayPal.
I did. Write something like this.
Is it a violation of TOS to use PayPal to raise funds for a copyright
violating, misogynistic, homophobic, pro-anal-rape, anti-free speech hate
screed? If it is not a violation of your TOS, could you explain why you
allow your service to be used to raise money by people such as Bill
Parvocampus, a self-hating anal rape enthusiast, a filth merchant, a
serial harasser, a person who hates women? Is that the kind of customer
you want? Because that is what you will be left with after a boycott is
organized against you.
I added the URL of several of Parvocampuss many websites and all his
old and new Twitter handles. You do the same.
Or, do nothing. Liberals are GREAT at that. We do nothing better than
ANYONE! Because that way,the epic, whining butthurt continues and the
government entitlement checks we love just keep on ROLLING IN!
I believe the only way to make these ultra-liberal knee jerk radical pains
in the ass pay for the crimes committed because of their misguided love
for fairness, equality, tolerance, diversity and inclusion is to hit them

where they live. To make their ignorance, their lack of common sense,
their reliance on feeeeelings COST them something.
Parvocampus enjoys being called names. He enjoys being sued. He enjoys
the stress of having 367 criminal charges hanging over his head,
exacerbating his Parkinsons disease with stress that is shaving years
YEARS!! off his life. You throw mud at him, he ignores it. Instead he
digs his bigs out of the back of his Depends and rubs it all over his face.
He wants you to know just how disgusting he really is, and how far he is
willing to go, what depths he will poop to I mean stoop to,, what lies he
will tell, all to paint himself as the victim in his own post-Shakespearean
tragedy.
And if we let the bloody-knuckled bully get away with calling himself the
victim, he wins.
The First Amendment says only that the government cant tell Bill what to
say, what to think, who to pray to. It doesnt say he gets to have a Twitter
account, a Facebook account, a shitty blog, a shitty radio station, to selfpublish shitty, copyright violating books, or raise money on PayPal.
When necessary, we have to use the rule of law. We have to shame those
who can still feel shame. Bill Parvocampus is not one of these. I believe
that if enough people hammer Twitter, Facebook, PayPal, Amazon,
CreateSpace, Smashwords, Lulu.com and anyone who does any business
whatsoever with Bill Parvocampus, they will not want to be associated
with the things he says. He will lose his platform. And he can stand on a
street corner and yell at people, until the cops take him away to Spring
Grove for a long term evaluation.
Engage him to expose his ignorance to others. Talk to him to show that he
cannot express a complete sentence. Argue with him to show onlookers
the epic deficiencies in his logic.
Take action. Shut him down. For the sake of free speech. Shut down the
people who support him so that free speech can flourish. Its the only
thing that will work to restore free speech in America!

-0There. Thatll show me. But back to the copyright lawsuit.

A NOT-SO-HYPOTHETICAL
TREATISE REGARDING
COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT
Posted: May 30, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

Were not going to mention any names here. What we will do is take a
good close look at the Fair Use Doctrine as it exists in the real world
under United States Copyright Laws, and not in the wish-fantasy castlein-the-sky of some not-so-hypothetical investigative journalist. We
will also examine the penalties for copyright
infringement, and further, the penalties for filing false DMCA
counterclaims against someone who has filed a correct DMCA
takedown notice against someone who uses material in violation of the
Fair Use Doctrine (FUD). MmmFUDfootlongs with
mayonnaise
Lets start the hypothetical examination by creating a character. Lets
call him Parkinson Williams. He writes a book well, to say he writes
a book is somewhat generous to Mr. Williams. What he does is collect
tweets, blog posts and comments, some of which he has authored, but
most of which he has copied from other websites without permission.
He edits these posts to create a false narrative about how he has been
harassed for no reason! by a vicious and hateful cabal of rightwing
thugs YES! THUGS!! To illustrate this alleged harassment, he steals
either a portion of (from which he has excised all context which does
not paint him as a completely helpless victim), or in some cases an
entire blog post, including the 100 or more comments which this post
generated.
Now, in our hypothetical, the person responsible for the largest portion
of this alleged decontextualized harassment against Mr. Williams
well call him Mr. Carroll, has a long and detailed copyright and usage

agreement policy in the Fine Print section of his website. Any objective
reading of this policy leads a reasonable person to the conclusion that
Mr. Williams has violated this notice and usage policy, because he is a
subnormal human with extensive brain damage, poor bowel control and
even worse manners.
Hypothetically, of course.
Mr. Carroll acquires a copy of this book that Mr. Williams has
written in his peculiar way, and finds not only that the arguments put
forth by the author are materially false (or BULLSHIT, to use the
vernacular), and represent a theft of copyrighted material from his
website. So, he does what any author with any regard for his intellectual
property would do: he contacts the self-publishing platform where the
book is being sold, and issues a proper DMCA takedown notice, which
includes a citation of the infringing material in Mr. Williams book,
and a link to the original material as published on Mr. Carrolls blog.
The self-publishing platform has no choice but to remove the infringing
material. This is a provision of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act
(DMCA). They have no choice but to remove the infringing material
after comparing the original authors work to the material in the book
they have contracted to sell and finding the complaint to be valid. The
self-publishing platform does this because they are not in the business
of defending the copyright integrity of the authors who seek to sell their
wares on a below-the-horizon, no-market-for-this-pig-slop-anywhereon-earth website that no publishable author has ever heard of, where
only the most desperate, ego-driven narcissist would go to say they were
a published author because any reputable literary agent would laugh
them out of the office before taking their copy/paste/repeat swill to a
legitimate publishing house.
Hypothetically, of course.
No, these scrape-past-the-scum-at the bottom-of-the barrel-and-diveinto-the-rushing-pre-treatment-plant-sewer-pipe self-publishers exist

on a simple business model: they very cheaply and electronically store

the electrons representing the millions of books that hundreds of
thousands of failures in the world believe is the next New York Times
bestseller, so they can shave a percentage off the top of each individual
sale to pay for the memory space and take a little profit from the cretins
who come begging them to sell their epic works of literature. Part of
this business model is not to edit, fact-check or copyright-check the
works they sell, because that incurs cost. They minimize their cost and
maximize their revenue (as any good business does) by pushing the
liability off onto the desperate author who is probably a subhuman with
extensive brain damage, poor bowel control, worse manners, and
absolutely zero sense of what really takes place between the idea of a
book and the actual, successful execution of publishable material.
Hypothetically, of course.
However, all is not lost for our hypothetical author Mr. Parkinson
Williams. The DMCA also provides that he can file a counterclaim
alleging that Mr. Carrolls copyright claim is false, or that he, Mr.
Williams, used the material under FUD.
Now the ball is back in Mr. Carrolls court. The DMCA mandates that
Mr. Carroll must provide the self-publishing platform with a court
order, stating that he intends to file suit in a United States Federal
Court claiming copyright infringement. Most people who use material
improperly realize they are using it improperly. Or in the case of a
scoundrel like our hypothetical Mr. Parkinson Williams, the pathetic
jackholes could go ahead and use the material, knowingly make a false
claim of fair use, and let the complainant go through the time and
expense, the very GREAT expense, of filing a copyright suit in US
Federal Court.
That would be enormously stupid, but no one has yet accused Mr.
Parkinson Williams of having an intellect even half as strong as the
aroma wafting up from the seat of his sweatpants.

Hypothetically, of course.
But, just for the sake of our example, lets say that Mr. Williams is an
honest writer, and he honestly believes he has used the claimed material
under the FUD. Since this is a hypothetical discussion, it is within the
realm of possibility, no matter how farfetched it sounds when measured
against reality.
Just go with it
Mr. Carroll has every right to file a copyright suit claiming that his
copyright has been infringed.
The United States Copyright laws fall under Title 17 of the US Code.
Sections 107 through 118 deal with the FUD.
Section 107 lists the following specific purposes for which a work may
be fairly reproduced without infringing the authors copyright:
Criticism
Comment
News reporting
Teaching
Scholarship
Research
The section also sets forth four factors that must be taken into account
when deciding whether a particular use of copyrighted material is fair.
(1) The purpose and character of the use, including whether such use is
of a commercial nature or is for nonprofit educational purposes;
(2) The nature of the copyrighted work;
(3) The amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the
copyrighted work as a whole; and
(4) The effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the
copyrighted work.
The distinction between what is fair use and what is infringement is
intentionally left vague in the statute, so that determinations in court

can be made on a case-by case basis, rather than relying on precedents

that may not apply from prior to future cases. There is no specific
number or percentage of words, lines or musical notes that may be
taken without permission. For example, taking the six-second hook
from Lynyrd Skynyrds Sweet Home Alabama would be infringement,
because it is the central identifying piece of the music. Using Frankly,
Scarlett, I dont give a damn! infringes on the copyright of Gone With
the Wind. And using Shakespeares Shall I compare thee to a
summers day? Frosts Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, also
infringes on that copyrighted work.
[damn nitpickers, always pickin at my nits PK]
Also, crediting the original source of the material does not
automatically provide a defense against infringement.
Now, lets say at this point that Mr. Parkinson Williams has NO IDEA
WHATSOEVER what material Mr. Carroll is claiming he holds the
copyright for (I know, the hypothetical blanket is starting to stretch
pretty thin, aint it?). We will say, for the purpose of this argument, that
Mr. Carroll has claimed that Mr. Williams has infringed on Mt.
Carrolls original copyright in one case, and in a second case, Mr.
Carroll is claiming an infringement against a work for which he has
recently acquired the relevant copyright from the original author.
Assuming Mr. Carroll does, in fact, own the work involved, Mr.
Williams has the four pillars of the FUD to fall back on.
1. What was the purpose and character of the alleged infringing use
was it used for educational , personal or non-profit purposes, which is
the safer end of the spectrum? Was it for criticism, commentary or
news reporting, which sit in the middle of the scale? Or was it for use in
a for-profit venture, which is much higher risk? Clearly, in the case of
both works referenced above, they were included in Mr. Williams
strangely written books. So this pillar of the FUD works against Mr.
Williams.

2. What was the nature of the copyrighted work(s)?

a. In the case of Mr. Carrolls original work, it was a blog post which
made no reference to Mr. Williams. The post itself included over 100
reader-generated comments, many of which did refer to Mr. Williams
in unpleasant language. The blog post itself was a one sentence bit of
non-sequitur humor, and the comments became an online conversation
of sorts. That Mr. Williams was a subject of the conversation does not
grant license for use of the post and all its comments. The subject
matter is not relevant to the question of infringement. This too works
against Mr. Williams.
b. The second work was a parody originally published pseudonymously
on a third party blog. The work parodied a post that Mr. Williams
himself had written and posted on his own blog some time previously,
and then taken down, as he is often wont to do. Hypothetically, of
course. The original subject of Mr. Williams self-described satire
was Mr. Carroll and his family, who Mr. Williams undertook to
describe in unpleasant language. The pseudonymous third partys
parody took Mr. Williams work and turned it about on him and his
family, using somewhat more unpleasant language. In addition to the
actual parody, the pseudonymous blogger undertook to explicitly
identify the work as a parody, and to identify Mr. Williams as the writer
and publisher of the original work on which the parody was based, as
well as identifying Mr. Carroll as the original target of that work. This
work was parody, a work of comedy clearly identified as such, and
included a context which Mr. Williams did not see fit to include. Again,
the subject matter of the work is not relevant to the question of
infringement, so Mr. Williams again comes up short.
3. How much of the copyrighted work did the alleged infringer, Mr.
Williams, use? There seems to be a question regarding what a copyright
covers. Is a blog a copyrighted entity in and of itself? Are individual
entries on the blog copyrighted? Is there a reasonable comparison to be
made by looking at other media?
a. Is a musical album a copyrighted entity? Common sense requires
assent. What about the individual songs on the album? If they are not

individually copyrighted, how then can royalties be paid to multiple

songwriters, lyricists and other performers who contribute to one song
but not to others?
b. Is a television series a copyrighted entity? Again, common sense
requires assent. What about individual episodes? The same question
applies how are actors, writers and directors paid residuals on
syndicated broadcasts otherwise?
c. What about books? Books are of course individually copyrighted, but
are the chapters within each book covered by that copyright? Common
sense they must be.
So what do these comparisons tell us? They tell us that a copyrighted
work broken into individual parts is still copyrighted. One cannot
sample a song and claim under fair use that it is but a small fraction of
an album, nor illegally broadcast an episode of a television show
claiming it is but one of 175 episodes. Likewise, one cannot re-publish a
whole chapter of an Elmore Leonard novel or a Laura Hillebrand
memoir and claim it is but a small portion of their body of work. The
fact that Mr. Williams pirated an entire post with comments in the first
case, and an entire parody, stripped of its explanatory context and
twisted into painting Mr. Williams as a victim of totally undeserved
insults in the second case, surely must weigh against him as well.
4. How does the use of the material affect the value of the infringed
material? Mr. Williams can joke that his use of it improves its value,
but, while hypothetical, this is not a joking matter. Hypothetically, Mr.
Williams is a thief, and he knows it. Hypothetically, Anne Frank was
not interested in selling her diary. Hypothetically, Vincent Van Gogh
couldnt sell his paintings to feed himself while he lived. The value of a
thing is not determined by the money one can receive for it. Mr.
Williams might have dogs that he would not (or could not) sell, but that
has no bearing on their value to him. Hypothetically speaking, Mr.
Williams may or may not have expressed in the past a great terror at the
thought of losing those hypothetical dogs. Their hypothetical value does
not have a hypothetical dollar amount; their hypothetical value is
intrinsic and subjective.

Hypothetically, let us suppose that Mr. Williams is attempting to make

a similar but opposing Fair Use argument on his own blog. Also
hypothetically, let us note that Mr. Williams claims it is his standard
policy to use segments of a blog and link to the blog in question when
excerpting the work of others. Finally, let us suppose, hypothetically of
course, that Mr. Williams include in his argument a purported quote
from the Electronic Freedom Foundation a quote for which, contra
his stated standard policy, he DOES NOT provide a link (and isnt
that instructive of the motives of Mr. Williams?):
This factor is often held to be the most important in the analysis, and it
applies even if the original is given away for free. If you use the copied
work in a way that substitutes for the original in the market, its
unlikely to be a fair use; uses that serve a different audience or purpose
are more likely to be fair. Linking to the original may also help to
diminish the substitution effect. Note that criticism or Parody that has
the side effect of reducing a market may be fair because of its
transformative character.
Have people stopped reading Mr. Carrolls blog because Mr. Williams
steals his content? If anything, more people seem to be reading it.
But that is not the question we seek to answer in determining whether
Mr. Williams use is fair. The question is, does that use affect the
ability of the original author to generate a revenue stream from the
infringed content? Could Mr. Carroll compile a number of his own blog
posts (or even include someone elses posts) on a particular topic into a
book? Is such a My Slow Journalistic Death thing possible? Could such
a Brain Dead idea possibly make any money? Would it be Intentional
Infliction of Emotional Distress to consider such a thing? Or is it all
just Cyber Ins@nity?
Hypothetically, of course. Or hypocritically, even.
It would seem reasonable to think that the owner of the material should
be entitled to any revenue that could be generated, especially when

considering the fact that the first copyrighted work is reproduced in

toto and has no transformative character. Likewise the second work,
which does have an entirely transformed character thanks to Mr.
Williams underhanded and self-serving editing techniques.
Additionally, the fact that Mr. Williams included the infringing
material in books whose intent was to generate revenue would also tip
the scales against him.
So again, given the hypothetical certainty of what copyrighted material
Mr. Carroll is charging Mr. Williams with appropriating, a conclusion
would seem reasonably easy to reach. It would seem, based on what we
know, that Mr. Williams will soon be on the hook for two (or more,
perhaps even hundreds more) counts of copyright infringement.
Hypothetically, of course.
A forty-three year old report (which predates Al Gores hypothetical
invention of the Internet and all the hypothetical internet copyright
jurisprudence by at least two decades) puts it this way:
The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision
of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have
regarded as fair use: quotation of excerpts [but not entire works PK]
in a review or criticism for purposes of illustration or comment;
quotation of short passages [but not entire works PK] in a scholarly or
technical work, for illustration or clarification of the authors
observations; use in a parody of some of the content of the work
parodied [geez, why does this sound so familiar? PK]; summary of an
address or article, with brief quotations [but not entire works PK], in a
news report; reproduction by a library of a portion [but not entire works
PK] of a work to replace part of a damaged copy; reproduction by a
teacher or student of a small part of a work [but not entire works PK]
to illustrate a lesson; reproduction of a work in legislative or judicial
proceedings or reposts; incidental or fortuitous reproduction, in a
newsreel or broadcast, of a work located in the scene of an event being
reported.

So let us assume, EXTREMELY HYPOTHETICALLY, that Mr.

Williams will prevail on the issue of fair use.
On second thought, lets not. Because Mr. Williams is probably a
subhuman with extensive brain damage, poor bowel control, worse
manners, and absolutely zero sense of what really takes place between
the idea of a book and the actual, successful execution of
publishable material.
In other words, despite any protestations or disingenuous arguments to
the contrary, Mr. Williams does not have a legal leg to stand on.
So let us instead consider the recourse available to the aggrieved party,
Mr. Carroll.
Section 512(f) specifies:
Misrepresentations. Any person who knowingly materially
misrepresents under this section
(1) that material or activity is infringing, or
(2) that material or activity was removed or disabled by mistake or
misidentification,
Shall be liable for any damages, including costs and attorneys fees,
incurred by the alleged infringer, by any copyright owner or copyright
owners authorized licensee, or by a service provider, who is injured by
such misrepresentation, as the result of the service provider relying
upon such misrepresentation in removing or disabling access to the
material or activity claimed to be infringing, or in replacing the
removed material or ceasing to disable access to it.
Given that Mr. Parkinson Williams suffers [hes such a victim!!
ELEVENTY!! PK] from a neurological disorder that is worsened by
the stress caused whenever he stomps his own BBs, his request for
damages due to a frivolous suit would likely be laughed not just out of
the courtroom but out of the entire courthouse, past the neighboring
lawyer watering hole, down the street around the corner and up the hill.

The damages from once again (and repeatedly) stomping his own BBs,
on the other hand, are likely to be steep indeed.
Hypothetically, of course.
O.o

AND IF YOU BELIEVE THAT, IVE

GOT A BRIDGE IN BROOKLYN
FOR SALE!
Posted: August 28, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

Ive been keeping my peace about this, but lets look at the facts.
1. William M. Parvocampus filed a horribly botched Answer
and Counterclaim and First (and Second) Amended Counterclaim
in his ill-fated, woe-begotten, doomed-from-day-one attempt to
identify and maliciously prosecute me for some very vague and
legally specious charges of libel and some such bullshit. Read all
about it in Cheesinus Fromundies Intent to Sniff.
2. He spent all of his mayonnaise budget for the summer on
postage, and was willing to dig into the penicillin and cranberry
juice money to pay for subpoenas and processing fees from
WordPress and Twitter to smoke me out and persecute me for
authoring a genius parody that gave him Jerry Falwell levels of
epic butthurt.
3. Before he even figured out how to affect service on me, he
folded like a pup tent in a hurricane. He got nothing, because hes
a cowardly, no-account, shuffling lump of weenie-meat with no
guts for a fight he claimed to be spoiling for. He claims victory, yet
refuses to look in my direction, when his prayer for relief of
$1.500.000 (no thats no typo he really did try to sue for twelve
bits) results two fingers raised high and proud back at him. He

paid his costs, I sat back, pointing, laughing and mocking for most
of a summer at no cost to myself.
4. Yes, McHog lost at the hearing for a Preliminary Injunction.
Lets read that word again, slowly, like Bill does: Preeeeeeeelllllliiimmmmm-iiiiiiiiiiinnnnnn-aaaaarrrrryyy. It means early.
5. Legal experts like Eugene Volokh knew the handwriting was
on the wall. They said, Sure enough; McHog lost in a hearing for a
preliminary injunction very, VERY early in the process. He lost to
a slavering mad dog psychotic with Daddy issues and impulse
control problems, a serially adjudicated harasser & deranged
cyberstalker with a vile fixation on anything in or near the human
bodys garbage chute. (Well, that may be a bit of a paraphrase, and
I dont think Professor Volokh knows Bill well enough to be quite
so opinionated, but others do.) They also said the preliminary
injunction really had nothing to do with making a case at trial. Bill
had an AWFUL LOT OF TROUBLE remembering that part. He
restated his offer to McHog. Let me skate, you vindictive,
vexatious, stinky old prick. McHog told him to take a running
fuck at a rolling doughnut. (Though his word choice was surely
less colorful than mine.)
6. McHog files a peace order, again, and, as McHog expected,
the idiot political appointee judge denied the petition. He should
have waited for a weekend when standards are much lower and you
can manufacture enough evidence AND fear-pee to sway a
weekend county court commissioner, amirite?
7. Undeterred by the proclamations of brain-dead bumpkins, or
Circuit Court judges, McHog exercises his legal right to file an
appeal.
8. Now that Bill has convinced himself that McHog has
bungled his case, has misfiled his copyright applications, has
thrown away all that money and has shown weakness, he gladly
agrees to a settlement conference, thinking he can walk in with
reams upon reams of printouts of comments that gave him epic
butthurt and sadz for his widdle feeeeewings, and walk out with

tens of thousands of dollars. He doesnt realize that his attempt to

muddy the legal waters to obscure his tortious violations has failed
miserably.
9. At the settlement conference, McHog first demands
everything he had originally asked for. The judge explains that his
complaint is flawed and likely to be dismissed.
10. The judge turns to Bill, who reaches for his boxes of printed
hate-crack. He wonders why he calls it hate-crack, because Bill
loves crack! He writes about it ALL THE TIME, by cracky! The
judge laughs out loud at Bills evidence and tells him to cover up
his butt stuff, as its only just a bit more irrelevant than
Spankme Bill himself. The judge came here to broker a settlement,
but Bill has been cawing like a magpie all week about getting his
pound of flesh from McHog. He cant be seen losing face now. The
judge quickly becomes exasperated with both men. He tells Bill
that his counterclaim has more flaws and FAR less merit than the
original claim against him, and that if he had wanted to pursue
this seriously, even a high school freshman with lawyer aspirations
would have been a better advocate for his cause. Judge Hollander
is likely to throw the whole thing out anyway. Bill tried to tell the
judge about all the money hed spent on butthurt ointment the last
two years, and how his wife was sad, and he DESERVED
COMPENSATION for all the PAIN and SUFFERING and
EXACERBATION he had endured during this period of ruthless
stalking and harassment he had perpetrated. The judge wasnt even
listening, which was probably a lucky thing for Bill. He finally
understood that his planned payday was not forthcoming. He said,
Fine. Instead of $1000 per hate-filled comment, Ill take $800.
And McHog pays my costs. Ill take down the infringing material
(which can be seen in the book Cheesinus Fromundies Intent to
Sniff.) from my websites until I feel like putting it up again.
11. Five minutes later, after the roaring laughter subsides and
the Judge and McHog have picked themselves off the floor and
resumed their seats, Bill realizes all is lost. McHog tries to get him

to admit that he infringed, but Bill, desperate to leave the room

with a shred of dignity and something, anything he can grasp and
call a victory, discovers that he possesses a very rudimentary,
underdeveloped backbone and scrawls the word alleged right
before the word infringement while McHog was signing. HA!
Too late! Then Bill snatched the paper away and signed with his
favorite crayon yellow-brown, just the shade where the stripe
down his back faded into the stain rising out of his taint. AND HE
GOT NOTHING. NO MONEY. NO KRENDLER. NO APOLOGY.
NO MAYONNAISE.
But McHog has wisdom. He knows Bill is, beneath all the blubbering
bluster and blustering blubber, a fool and a recidivist serial
harasser incapable of self-control or of acting in his own best interests.
He knows that Bill will trip over himself jumping back into the sewer
(probably causing some other minor injury that he can blame on
McHog, because MCHOG!), and that it will happen sooner than
anyone can predict. So, he tells Bill that if Bill gives him half a reason
not to do so, he is not going to press the Peace Order at the District
Court. Bill thanks him. But both men know in their deepest hearts that
Bill is already planning to do something really stupid, and hes already
planning to blame McHog for it.
Still, in good faith, McHog did ask his readers to lay off Bill, and let
him make the promised changes to his internet presence which the two
litigants (Id call them men if Bill hadnt disqualified himself many
years ago) had shaken hands on. And for the most part, the readers did.
But sure enough, Bill is soon at work on a new cut-and-paste masturbpiece, a true story to put all the facts in the record. Less than a week
after the settlement is signed, Bill attempts to all along, the plan was
that he would show up anyway, and without me there to defend myself,
he would win his peace order.
An honest person, an adult, a decent human being would have
understood that, by changing his mind about cleaning up his online

behavior, he had failed to provide the half a reason not to pursue the
peace order appeal. An honest person, an adult, a decent human being
would have realized that by baiting even one online ally of McHog (that
being me), he had publicly reneged on his own promise and vacated the
informal handshake terms reached after the documents were signed. An
honest person, an adult, a decent human being, would realize that he
had just kickstarted (with a whole $25 tub of potato salad! Mmm-mm!)
a fresh round of battle and revealed himself afresh as the repeatoffending, serially adjudicated, deranged harassing cyberthug he is. An
honest person, an adult, a decent human being would have informed his
opponent that he had decided not to change his online behavior and, for
the good of society as a whole, he should pursue the peace order appeal
with maximum haste and prejudice. But Bill is neither honest nor
decent. He is an adult in the legal, but not the emotional, sense of the
term, and the truth of his humanity is still very much up in the air.
Instead, Bill chose to believe that his lack of remorse and his failure to
modify his behavior would pass unnoticed. He chose to believe that
McHog would not realize Bill had tried to dupe him, or if he did, would
demonstrate a level of forgiveness unequal to that of an opponent under
attack once more. He believed this fantasy so willingly, so completely,
that he ignored the fact that the peace order appeal was still pending.
He preferred instead to blame his opponent for not swinging by and
giving him a ride to court and arguing his case for him. Instead, he
assumed once more that, like most furniture, reality would simply bend
and rearrange itself to fit him, and because he had convinced himself
that McHog would not appeal the peace order, the peace order appeal
was beneath his attention horizon. Bill kept his previously scheduled
appointment with his neurologist and had a late breakfast with his
caretaker-cum-housemaid.
Assuming Bill would be there, but prepared for the possibility he would
not, McHog marched into the courtroom, presented his evidence to the
judge, and was awarded his peace order uncontested. Just like Bill
would have been if he hadnt chickened out back in early June.

McHogs supporters celebrate his integrity, his compassion in

forgiveness, his decency in giving Bill YET ANOTHER chance to
change his ways, his utter lack of hesitation is stepping back into a
battle he thought had ended, and his ability to treat a contemptible
person with contempt regardless of the pathetic excuses Bill falls back
upon as a patient suffering a progressive neurological disorder (wait I
thought Progressivism WAS a neurological disorder?). Bill pathetically
blames McHog for Bills failure to take responsibility for his life and
check to see if his presence is required in court. Bill rejected REALITY
and substituted his own, made his choice, took action and now wants to
shift the responsibility for that choice and the consequences that
followed onto his enemy. Bill is a weak-willed creature with a weak
heart and a weaker soul. McHog quietly does what he must.
Some people create. Engineers. Architects. Carpenters. Software
developers. Artists. Quantum mechanics.
Others destroy. Serially adjudicated, anally fixated, deranged
cyberstalkers.
Some leave a permanent, positive mark on the planet. Others leave a
stain.
Some people rise above petty nonsense, join the fight against obvious,
malodorous, trailer-dwelling evil parasites, win and get on with their
lives. Others brood like venomous spiders in their webs, driven by evil
intent and hearts consumed with bile, planning their next attack on an
unwitting victim.
Most people are like I am. Basically decent (with inherent human
flaws). Honest. Loyal to their friends and true to their word. I will admit
that my sense of humor is warped beyond the extreme, but everyone
needs a non-PC zombie to lighten the mood, goddammit!
A small minority of people are like Bill Parvocampus. Disgusting.
Liars. Smelly. Anal-obsessed. Footlong-with-mayonnaise addicted.
Delusions of grandeur. Narcissism. Sociopathy. Complete lack of self-

awareness. Indecent. Incompetent. Incontinent. Twice cuckolded.

Unloved by his children. Perpetual victim. Irresponsible. Reliably
wrong. Supporter of objective evil and destroyer of objective good.
Forever whining about the everyday cruelties of human existence.
Responsible for nothing. Taking credit for everything. Lazy. Ugly. Fat.
Burden to his spouse in particular and society in general. Credit to
nothing. Friendless.
Until he wakes up tomorrow and fires up Twitter, he will have nothing
more to say about WJJ McHog III. He has, as they say, Put the Cross
Up for him. He is dead as far as Bill is concerned, until he changes his
mind, digs him up and tries to beat on him some more. 367 criminal
charges is a sizable number, but I am confident that with the right
motivation, Bill could eclipse that number as easily as he blocks his
wifes view of the television. But it makes no difference Bill will soon
be right next to his friend, Ted Kennedy a corrupt liar, great drinker,
bad swimmer and killer of innocent women decomposing from inside,
food not fit even for worms.
Bill thinks this is goodbye to McHog. Only until tomorrow, or the next
coming of the Handlers. May Bill at long last exit the internet to find
peace and quiet away from the stressful online environment within
which he has shat himself times beyond counting. May that be a victory
for him. If the fates have it that he dies before I do (and they probably
do, because I am one heavily-armored zombie badass), I may make a
special trip to whatever landfill his surviving family sees fit to deposit
him. And, I may have occasion to empty several industrial sized
Gatorade coolers on his final resting place. But they wont be filled with
Gatorade. To celebrate the occasion, Ill be throwing a house party/chili
cook-off. Beer and wine will flow like uh, wine. And beer. Chili will
be consumed. Jalapeno poppers. Rotgut whisky shots. And the
restrooms will be closed.
But there will be several industrial sized Gatorade coolers to fill. And
the price of admission is that you may not leave until youve made a

deposit, so to speak.
And then follows the field trip to the final resting place. For a guy who
so loved the butt stuff, could there be a more fitting and appropriate
send-off?
As he draws his terminal breath, I hope that he leaves this Earth with
that image in his mind. Paul Krendler, surrounded by 50 zombie
friends, dancing like dervishes atop his garbage-covered carcass,
pouring gallon after gallon after gallon after gallon of human waste
over his cold and already forgotten grave.
And then, for a final time, I will say the words
Bill, I am sorry. Sorry that I couldnt bring 100 friends. Sorry that I
couldnt empty an entire dump truck of something more vile and
poisonous than shit, piss and vomit all over you to improve the smell.
Sorry I forgot to bring a metric ton of rock salt to cover the land so that
your passing will be commemorated by a memorial site where nothing
will ever grow green again. Oh, wait. Home Depot is still open! Hey
guys, lets go buy some rock salt! Bill, well be right back.
Hoggy made several mistakes in his filing. For one thing, he filed the
lawsuit BEFORE applying for copyright protection. He overstepped in his
demand for a preliminary injunction. Whether or not this was intentional
on his part, who knows. But the judge ordered a settlement conference
with a magistrate. Out of the $620,000 Hoggy demanded, he got $0.
Of course, the entire kerfuffle was great for blog traffic. Krendlers
readers proclaimed Hoggy the WINNER since having the suit settled
meant I could not proceed with my countersuit. All one has to do is tell
these people what to think, and by God in Heaven Above, THAT is what
they will think.
Still, the whole enterprise was wearying. Now that the copyright suite
was behind me, I began thinking of ways to kill off the character. I
couldnt just stop blogging as Krendler. He was far too popular. On top of

that, I started to believe that Hoggy really thought a Federal Judge was
going to give him $620,000 for my use of material that I actually wrote.
It seemed that Hoggy was getting more and more unstable. Psychotropic
drugs can be a terrible master. I thought if I wrote a post mocking a
recently-departed right wing blogger, the howls of outrage would force
Hoggy to see that this character had run its course.

Now He Really Knows He Was Right

About Me
Posted: July 28, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

I just found out yesterday that my new bestest friend not to be confused
with my excellent friend, convicted bomber, forger, perjurer and drug
dealer, who has not served his full sentence and walks free every day at
risk of being returned to federal prison if he violates parole Bert
Timmerman
(oh, and did I mention he is the only suspect in the murder of Augustina
Encoders, the grandmother of his at-the-time waaaaay underage
girlfriend, whom the sick bastard had been taking on vacations without
chaperones? Did I mention that? Well, I should probably keep that to
myself, what with me and Bert being such excellent palsy-walsies and all
that)
Marshall Mellow of 1416 Wellesbury Lane, Huntsville AL, 35807, phone
number 256-555-2455, Social Security Number 422-51-2890, clean
criminal record except for 2 speeding tickets, 10 unpaid parking tickets
and an expunged juvenile vandalism arrest, FICO score of 700, owed
$1600 on his Harley, carried a $1.7 million life insurance policy and a
$128K mortgage note on his lovely home, a picture of which I would post,
so someone who felt like visiting a newly widowed single mom and
offering some special attention might be able to recognize the right
studio downtown where she doesnt actually live died on July 18.
Dreadful news, unless you have a thing for hot, young, mourning widows.
But dont do that. I would never suggest anything so vile and crass. Its
way too soon. Please, at least wait until theres grass on the grave, huh?
Show some respect.
Marsh (he let me call him Marsh, just like that racist, alcoholic hack
wannabe journalist R. Stacy McCain insists I call him Stace) spent the
last month and a half of his life blogging the truth about how evil I am.

And motorcycles, and theater, and hidden places in Alabama, but really,
who cares about any of that shit? Everyone knows its AAAAALLLLL
ABOUT ME! ME!! MEEE!!!! His blog didnt get any attention (from me,
and its all about me) until he started writing about ME and how evil and
stupid I am on May 28. In fact, he really didnt start writing about me
until after he found that fucking Thinking Mans Zombie blog written by
that fucking weasel Paul Krendler whose parody I stole and put in a book.
You see, Marshall thought he knew more about US Copyright Law and
Fair Use than I do, and NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY, knows more
about copyright law and unfair use than me. Not even some Presidential
appointed, Senate approved icky girl Federal Judge!
Because MCHOG!
But as soon as the Lickspittle Minions got wind of yet another blogger
who had seen through my steady stream of lies and other horse shit, and
proved himself smarter than me, he was welcomed into
the McHogwash! fold like a conquering hero. I have to make up
commenters at my blog. Even Harridan OFakeChik wont comment on
my blogs.
What Marshall did was what any decent journalist would do. He asked me
questions. Sure they were obnoxious. How can you call yourself a
journalist is you dont hound your subject with obnoxious questions like,
What happened to your dead daughter? Did you drown her in the toilet
yourself, or was it your wife? Wheres the death certificate? What about
the paperwork on your underage porn models? When did you stop
abusing your kids? You know Im calling the cops on you, dontcha,
pervert? Why do you pimp out your wife, sicko bastard?
Of course, those questions arent obnoxious; theyre tenacious. Theres a
difference. I only ask tenacious questions. If Im not asking, then theyre
obnoxious.
They were even reasonably polite, and based in documentable history of
some of my past award-winning journalistic and other online exploits. I

mean, when I doxed McCain and that guy in Dallas on the same day, I got
a dozen fresh jars of mayonnaise! There was no return address on it, but
who cares? MAYONNAISE!!
Besides, those obnoxious questions had nothing to do with the the battles
Im fighting and the issues Im facing.
Oh. Did I mention that its ALL. ABOUT. ME!!?!!ELEVENTY!???!?
At first, he seemed like a nice enough fellow. Earnestly trying to find out
what black and malignant infestation makes an obviously mental
deficient, unstable sociopathic narcissist like me tick. And Im sure he
was earnest and honest and nice in real life.
I wonder what thats like? (Not really. Couldnt care less.)
But this is cyberspace, where I can take off my mask and be the
unrelenting, shit-smeared fuckstick bastard that I always am when no one
is around to unplug the computer and mix a triple dose of lithium into my
fro yo.
And now young Marshall is gone, so tragically young, with an extra
young widow, and two even younger young youngsters. And puppies!
Young puppies! Barely out of the whelping box, so recently torn away
from their own mother (oh, Marshall, you heartless piece of shit, how
could tear those helpless young, young, YOUNG animals from the only
love theyve ever known only to abandon them to the tail-yanking, earpulling shenanigans of your soon to be homeless little criminal street
urchins! O the cruelty!). I didnt have the chance to make peace with him,
after he reached the obvious conclusion that I am every bit the tumorous,
vile, stinking, vomitous waste of human flesh that every right-thinking
netizen believes I am. Ive made peace with many make-believe McHog
readers who, once I realized I could not dox them because they dont
actually exist, have learned that I am a living, breathing human being
who functions entirely on my autonomic nervous system and a deep brain
stimulator that has been hijacked via Bluetooth by some teenaged
creepazoid hacker living IN A VAN! DOWN BY!! THE RIVER!!!

It breaks my heart that Marshall spent the last month and a half of his life
inserting myself (add your own joke here, I cant choose from so
many-PK) into issues that did not concern him. Issues like:
what sort of professional association would a Pennsylvania dentist
belong to, and how could I fuck with that?
would a librarian be embarrassed by the fact that she finished last in a
local election?
why is some old broad in Portland sending me emails?
that guy in Illinois I tried to get fired is wondering about jobs in
Maryland? After I clean up the fear pee and creep his TL, Im gonna get a
peace order that I have no intention of pressing
a guy with that name absolutely MUST be the same guy in the same state
with a long arrest record, right?
Why would Michael want to do such stupid things?
What?
Me? Of course, me. Its ALL ABOUT ME!
Oh, that! Did I do those things? Im sorry but Im not going to participate
in your stupid games so MYOFB!!! And if you dont tell me Paul
Krendlers real name by the time I count three, Im gonna count to
FOUR!!!
Umnever mind. I recently learned about this thing called a Freudian
Slip? I think I just broke my hip.
The more I pointed out to him that hes not an award winning jomolista
like me, and that he had no right to ask polite questions of me (BECAUSE
ITS ALL ABOUT ME!), the more he persisted in acting like a shitty fake
internet investigative jomolista chasing a totally fake non-story down
Texas way in a totally unethical and downright shitty manner that, if
there were any true justice in the world, would land that shitty fake

internet investigative jomolista behind bars for the rest of his sorry
fucking life!
But thats not me. I would never do ANYTHING like that.
But Marshall, poor young dead Marshall, just couldnt let it go. He
pushed me, and pushed me, and pushed me. And now hes dead. Of a heart
attack. So they say. Just by the way, did you know that drugs like cocaine
and methamphetamine can cause a massive heart attack? Its just
amazing the things you can learn on the internet! Wouldnt it be
something if I knew someone who could get their hands on such illegal
substances? Someone whod been convicted of dealing drugs? Boy, its a
good thing I dont know anybody like that.
To give you an idea of what were dealing with here, a couple months
after conservative new media firebrand Andrew Breitbart died in 2012,
some fucking shitbrained, pus-oozing, lunatic, festering-chancre-on-thehemorrhoidal-asshole-of-Liberal-Assholedom hatemonger called The
Liberal Grump started a parody website called Big Damnation to
mock Andrew and torture his fans. The same guy even had a Twitter
account, @DeadAndrew, to go with it. That this would come to mind upon
hearing about the death of someone tells more about ME that person
who isnt me (EVEN THOUGH ITS ALL ABOUT ME!!!) than anything I
could ever say.
But this is what Twitter and blogs have created. I hate people Ive never
even met. I can try an entire federal case and declare myself victoriously
victorious without even knowing what FACTS may be presented! I Hate
for the Sake of Hating. And, because Hate Is All I Have Left. Its the sort
of thing that people who should know better engage in. Thank goodness
Im not intelligent enough to know better; what a perfect excuse for being
the pluperfect leaking sphincter that I am. Not like McHog and Aaron
Slouch. They both have treated me like a human being. Ive had pleasant
conversations with both of them. They seem decent enough. Yet the next
day, there I am, back online, ridiculing Aarons mail order bride,
making up transsexual masturbation fantasies about McHogs son, or

painting his wife as an alcoholic. And for what? To build readership?

I have no readership! I have to comment with sockpuppets, for crissakes!
Nobody comments at my blog-of-the-week because everyone knows Ill
dox anyone who doesnt praise me to the skies. Everybody disagrees with
me, but everyone knows that ITS ALL ABOUT ME!!! so everyone knows
that everyone who disagrees with me must be wrong so everybody must be
doxed, and if I could exercise just a tiny amount ofwhats it called
again? Self-control, then I would not feel so all alone, EVERYBODY
MUST GET STONED!
Where was I?
Ask my wife what 764 radio stations, 86 defunct blogs and 10,648
abandoned Twitter accounts will mean to her when Im dead. Ask my kids
if their fathers me-me-me-against-the-world pissing contest with an
army of people hes never met, knows nothing about, wouldnt know if
they somehow managed to endure the stench and squeeeeeeze into an
elevator with him and his rolly chair and hope he doesnt fall on top of
themask them if they think his last years of blogging futility are
something they will look back on with pride.
Then look at the posts Ive managed not to delete out of shame and
cowardice. OR JUST COUNT ALL THE LINKS TO ALL THE POSTS I
HAVE WRITTEN WHICH NO LONGER EXIST. Read the hundreds, maybe
thousands of screencapped Tweets that Ive deleted or hidden.
Im an award-winning jomolista of three decades vintage! Youd think I
would be proud of what I write, proud enough to leave it up for posterity
to judge my legacy.
But no. I am a coward, with no spine to stand behind what I write.
My sins, and they are both LEGION and EPIC, were committed in the
pursuit of personal and political vendettas. The CARDINAL sin of the
jomolista is lack of objectivity. And I am guilty.
GUILTY! GUILTY!! GUILTY!!!

But that is absolutely irrelevant. I have given up the practice of

journalism, because I could never get it right in the first place. The fact
that I hate all of you does nothing to tear down the illusion that I have
ever accomplished anything in my life except drive two ex-wives into the
arms of other men. That takes some effort.
Look at what Im writing now. Is this the sort of legacy I should leave?
Why am I asking you? I hate you.
I admit that I am not proud of every word Ive written (especially that
word hubris, youd think there would be at least one synonym for that),
but Ive gotten pretty good at memory-holing the worst of it before
anyone screencapped it (ohpleaseohpleaseohplease let it be true!), so on
the surface it certainly appears to the uninterested observer that Ive
done far more good in my time on the planet than Ive done evil. (though I
may be borrowing against EDN* time in that calculation) but I can say
knowing my own heart and mind that I have never done evil
without fully rationalizing away the fact it was evil. I will admit that I
have done things that turned out in a way that hurt people, but hurt was
never my intent (merely a glorious, bordering on orgasmic, sweatypalmed unintended consequence).
Can you say that?

As a matter of fact, I can. Because all I have is fun! PK
My conscience is clean, even if my drawers are not. And I look forward to
winning this case which I have tried and won 562,854 times in my head
without knowing what evidence or argument that
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!!!!!!! will bring to bear and blah, blah,
blah, yadda, yadda, yadda, ITS ALL ABOUT ME ME ME!!!!!!!!! And
fuck you. And fuck McHog. And fuck Mellow, too.
Still, I ache for the Mellow family. (Nah, I dont fuck em. And their
little dogs, too!) I know the sting of unexpected loss, of when my

irresponsible, careless, selfish twin brother and wrestling partner

shuffled off this mortal coil in 2004. I only mention it BECAUSE ITS
ALWAYS, ONLY ALL ABOUT ME AND DONT YOU FUCKING FORGET
IT. EVER.
Marshall had a lot of questions that he wanted answers to. He didnt want
them bad enough to call in a spousal abuse report, or to suggest that I
might be mentally unstable, or to threaten to have my kids taken away (I
would have done all those things, but thats what separates the truly
ethical journalist from grimy sewer-dwelling turds like me). Plus, I
already knew that everything he knew was already in the public record,
so all he was trying to do was Mike Wallace me and get me to confess
to stuff thats already been proven true. Whats in it for me (its all about
me)? I chose not to play along, which of course only made me look guilty.
But I am guilty, so who gives a fuck?
I wager, if theres such a thing as Heaven, that Marsh Mellow now has
all the answers he sought, and he knows he will never see me again except
from inside the pearly gates, whilst I suffer across the infinite chasm with
great wailing and gnashing of teeth, shackled between the Bobber and
Fatty Arbuckle for all eternity. With only one kind of deodorant, that
smells like Bigs and rancid mayonnaise.

4.

I HAVE CREATED A VILLAIN WORTHY OF SOAP

OPERA FAME
By this point in the scam, the right wing readership had formed an
official doctrine of all things concerning Bill Parvocampus. He enjoyed
footlong hotdogs with mayo because they reminded him of oral sex with
his dead twin brother. He was a cyber stalker and harasser of children.
And he was an anal rape fetishist. Add to that my unfortunate fondness
for feces, well its clear what a nasty character we have here.
Anything I wrote as Bill Parvocampus was rejected if it did not fit with
the official canon of the flock. Krendler tried to show the hypocrisy of
all this by writing more than anybody about the things the conservatives
found so distasteful.

Keep a Happy Ass

Posted: August 25, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

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 ones Depends to dig at the nasty, filthy, disease-ridden
remnants of Parvocampus clinging parasitically to your ass.
Thats why its vital that every time you visit the bathroom to expel
Parvocampus, you do the necessary paper work to wipe out every last
stinky bit of Parvocampus 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
Parvocampius 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 Parvocampus away. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should
you insert the cob into your ass! While Parvocampus 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
Parvocampus. Parvocampus 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
Parvocampus 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 Parvocampus 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
Parvocampus all over your ass. In such cases, its best to jump in the
shower to wash away the vile stuff that wont depart any other way. No
need for soap, because plenty of clean hot water will melt away that
Parvocampus like the Wicked Witch of the West, leaving your ass clean

and fresh until the next unfortunate onslaught of Parvocampus.

Justice, Poetic
Posted: September 27, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

Im off doing fun things this morning, riding trains and playing games.
So lets try our hand at POETRY!!
Sounds FUN, right? (Yeah, I know, shut up.)
Really its just an excuse for a little pointless Bill-ku.
My accomplishments
Experimental brain pokes
Books no one will buy
Footlongs with mayo
Tears falling in my fro yo
Tastes like epic fail
New station each month
Five Twitter handles last week
Re-design that blog!
Haters break the law
With false negative reviews
Heeengh! Heeengh! LICKSPITTLES!
His excellent friend
Brent Timmerman? Forgive him.
Lemmen? Die soon, fraud.
Parkinsons Disease
Exacerbated to death
Nothing is his fault
His monkey vulva
Is dry and itchy today
Must be full of sand

It never goes right

He cant keep anything straight
Doxing or walking?
He lived life his way
Sex on a stage in Japan
Paupers retirement
Stop talking to me.
I said, stop talking to me.
YOU CANT IGNORE ME!

The Following Letters Were Just Sent

To Everyone, Everywhere
Posted: October 1, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

To: everyone@everywhere.com; everyone@everywhere.net;

everyone@everywhere.org; everyone@everywhere.biz;
everyone@everywhere.tv; everyone@everywhere.uk
To whoever is reading this (Everyone, Everywhere):
I am a nearly 60-year old man, a retired federal government employee,
living with Stage IV Parkinsons disease. I am also a whiny bitch. I am
reaping the rewards of many years of online harassment of men whose
diarrhea I am not fit to strain into a blender of mayonnaise to make a
delicious smoothie. I am being continually force-fed my just desserts by
a person I believe to be Blurrity B. Blurry, Blurpy N. Blurblurby Blurt,
Bluriblur, BL BLURR-BLUR. His phone number is BLU-BLU-BLUR,
his IP Address is BL.URB.LUB.LUR.
He runs an anonymous blog called Blurring Blurs Blurrie
(http://blurringblursblurrie.blurredpress.com) that is completely
devoted to highlighting my reputation. At the moment, Mr. Blurry is
conspiring with his readers to post false negative reviews on my various
products on Amazon.com.
I know this because he sent someone a Direct Message on Twitter that
could only have been about me. Because all Direct Messages are about
me.
EVERYTHING is about me. Why else would I tweet all day about my
wife instead of Parkinsons Disease advocacy, which is what I keep
insisting I want to do?
I dont know. Whatever.
I know of one person who can positively identify Blurdler as Blurry.

His name is Blurriam Blur Joblur Blur III, 29 Blurdge Blurd,

Winchesblur, Blurryland. His phone number is (BLU) RBL-URBY. Mr.
Blur can positive identify Blurdler since he allegedly purchased the
world book and e-book rights to the following piece of filth Blurdler
posted on his blog. He mailed a check to Blurdlers address, then
sued me (unsuccessfully) for copyright infringement in the U.S. District
Court for the District of Blurryland for using this garbage in a book to
show the distance folks are willing to go in their efforts to show my true
nature.
http://blurringblursblurrie.blurredpress.com/2014/04/23/we-can-writewhatever-we-want-right/
This was his first blog entry. It has nothing whatsoever do to with
anything I have ever written, and no matter what he says its not a
parody and its not fiction. I swear to God its like he was hiding in my
house!
Through my own process of investigation, I have discovered that
Blurdler is the aforementioned Blurry. I wont bore you with how I
found out, because Im probably wrong again like always. You can
ascertain the truth of this by asking Mr. Blur (under oath) and
inquiring of Mr.. Blurry.
I have written to BlurredPress/Bluromattic in the past about this blog
violating the BlurredPress/Bluromattic terms of service for copyright
violation, invasion of privacy, interference with publicity rights, and the
failure to label obscene material as mature, which I have never done, as
far as anyone knows, because I have so much pride in my writing that
98.7% of it winds up going down the memory hole (Of course that
number jumps to 99.628% when you include all the Tweets Ive never,
ever deleted. Up until now, I have been ignored by
BlurredPress/Bluromattic. It might be because Im a whiny cumgargling fuckwit monkey vulvad bitch who cant take what I dish out.
I dont know. Whatever.

The problem with this is, these blog entries show up on Google because
they get page views. Theyre funny. Funnier than hell, actually. They
are shedding the light of truth on my reputation as a merchant of
smears and lies. Other right wing bloggers have joined in the merriment
and, as a result, I have been painted in the dark, ugly hues that match
the tinct of my tainted soul, and I cant help but feel this is interfering
with the sales of my smear books.
Two other individuals, Blurric B. Blurson, BLUR Blurrock Rd, Blurris,
UR, and Bhlurs Blurther, BLUR Blurlington Ave, Blur, Blurine, LU,
have been actively involved with Mr. Blur and Mr. Blurry in defaming
me. Mr. Blurson, under the pen name of BLUR, has been bragging on
Blurdlers Blog about writing negative reviews of my smear books
that he has never purchased and only reads the online samples. And he
promises to continue doing so, despite my warning that he cease and
desist treating me as I treat others, the meanie! Bhlurs Blurther has
been involved with me since I was epically pwn3d by his Knot in My
Blursblursin Facebook crew in 2011 in their involvement with an
effort to scam the media (and me, theyre mutually exclusive) into
thinking they were trying to interfere with the gathering of petitions to
recall their governor. He uses the name Blurard B. Lurl or
Embrlurrybluriddleablurum, but he has been positively identified as
Blurther by his former Knot cronies (who shined me on before and
would never do it again! Because by God, if I could drive or lift my
arms, Id beat them to death and they know it) and by my own
investigation which has misidentified him about a hundred and fortyseven times, and it keeps gettin funnier every time I fail at it!!
What I want is to be able to harass these people without consequence. I
want these people to have nothing to do with me. I want them to stop
telling people the truth about my books and to stop doing such a good
job spreading my trashy reputation all over the Internet. I want
someone to conspire with me to harass them, and to conspire to write
fake positive reviews for my smear books so they will sell a few more
copies and I can buy a special jar of wasabi mayonnaise to paint my

taint.
What I want is, after two long years of this, is for law enforcement to
take me seriously for the online threat that I am a deranged,
unbalanced, undiagnosed, unmedicated, unsupervised, undisciplined,
serially adjudicated cyber-harassing online thug who cannot stop, will
not stop digging into the private lives of people who would rather I just
go away. Please, please, PLEASE SEND SOMEONE TO FIT ME FOR
AN EXTRA-LONG-SLEEVED JACKET, a big poke of Thorazine and a
ride to a niceassisted living facility where Ill be protected from myself

a disabled Vietnam Era veteran, a Stage IV Parkinsons disease

survivor who has pledged the proceeds of his piddling sales to the
benefit of Parkinsons disease research agencies who, once they take a
close look, run like the Mississippi in flood season.
I have been tormenting these people, and others, for more than two
years. Mr. Blur has had to seek two separate peace orders against me.
The first he won from a judge who disagreed with me regarding what
behavior constitutes harassment. The second was uncontested because I
failed to check the calendar and didnt bother to appear. But it was ALL
HIS FAULT BECAUSE NOTHING IS EVER MY FAULT! I always
have a lie, an excuse, a prevarication, a rationalization for my behavior
and an externalized cause for why it has never turned out my way.
I have asked Blurnry County, UR, as well as Blurard County,
Blurryland, Blurine County, LU, and now Blurk County, BL to
investigate the activities of these people and all I get is shrugged
shoulders and advice to get off the internet and theyll stop bothering
you. Which, oddly, is the same advice the people I torment give me.
Isnt that weird. I dont know. Whatever. The Internet is my last
connection with the outside world, and I will not allow criminals to
deny me that connection. Dear God, how did old people survive before
the Great Gift of the Benevolent AlGore, Peace Be Upon Him?
I put it to our elected representatives and law enforcement to look into

this. Here in Maryland, we have dandy laws to protect minors from

people like me. But an adult living on a meager pension who cant take
triple the butthurt he tries to dish out is out of luck. I cant afford a
lawyer, hooch is weird because I was making nearly $100k when they
forced me to retire, and I cant find anyone willing to sue these
people on a contingency. Maybe its because Im a cretin who cant
understand that not even the lowest, scum-sucking, bottom-dwelling
ambulance chaser will take a case on contingency if that case has
no chance of prevailing on the merits.
But, hey, dont these air quotes make me look cool,
hip and smart?
I need law enforcement to do its job and stop me before I dox again. I
need these Internet service providers to live up to their terms of service
and ban me for life. I need protection from these people who are out to
destroy any chance I have at living my life without being able to harass
you, should the mood strike me. They have already so poisoned Google
that anyone searching my name will see all manner of hilarity. And
mayonnaise.
I need an advocate to look out for my interests, because if nothing else
in this letter is true, I am not capable of recognizing my interests. Its
me vs. all of them. I started this war, and now the Allies have taken
Berlin and Im alone in the bunker. I need your help. Hit. The.
Freaking. Tip. Jar.
Thank you.
Parkinson Williams
Blurridge, Blurryland

The Sound of One Hand Clapping

Posted: November 7, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler | Filed under: Evil Sekrit
Stuff, FUN, Humor | Tags: Evil Sekrit Stuff,FUN, Humor |59 Comments

Deep in a dark pit

The other side of the world
Silent like his voice
In cold reality
CD sales equal success
Some are burned, cheap fuel
Writers of satire
Wish they were truly funny
Focused bitterness
These witless wonders
Sharp words are blunt sledgehammers
Butterflies to smash
Publicly angry
Privately beaten at home
And all because MCHOG!
Ditched the computer
So the TROLLS will go away
Into the cornfield
Using the iPad
This annoying speech to text
Unreadable blog
Trolls in the cornfield
Peppy Irish melodies
Someone wants to dance
CHRIST. Not exactly writers block, but there was really not all that

much going on with the Timmerman/Slouch battles at the time so there

was really nothing new to write about. Hoggy taking me to court on
pretend charges had long since stopped being interesting, and I found
myself writing about my real self in the first mocking person again.

A FINAL, FINAL VOMITOUS RANT

THOUGHT, AT LEAST UNTIL THE
NEXT TIME I LEAVE FOREVER
Posted: November 16, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

ADDENDUM: ADDENDA are usually added at the end, but I put it

up at the top because Im edgy and creative like that. Plus I get to
think about getting something added up the end, which is
something I have sorely missed since I left the Navy.
Anyway
For over two years now, the weak, grey-skinned booger eaters I call
friends have stood by and laughed at me (literally! My excellent
chauffeur was independently witnessed snickering up his sleeve while
I was stomping my little grapes in a Peace Order modification hearing
last year.) while I have tried to fight back against the friends and allies
of the phantoms I have been chasing these last many years. I have been
begging for them to come get me, because Im tired of being nothing
save the butt of everyones jokes, yet here I sit, un-got. Does no one
understand when I beg people to come and kill me that I am absolutely
serious? That I can no longer stand the thought of facing another day
of surfing the internet in search of the daily ignominies visited upon
me? That I lack the willpower, as always, to take responsibility for
myself and do what must be done? CANT YOU PEOPLE READ
BETWEEN THE GODDAMN LINES AND FIGURE OUT I NEED
SOMEONE TO KILL ME TO FINALLY MAKE ME THE VICTIM IVE
TRIED SO HARD AND FAILED TO MAKE MYSELF?!?!!?
would someone please just put me out of this misery? please?
Want to impress me? Come to my house and open my neck with a utility
knife. Please. Show the kind of balls that I dont have. My wife has

owned the coin purse for over a year in more ways than one. Im so
weak, so useless, I cant do anything but pretend Im funny, and nobody
even believes that anymore. And now I have to go and pull it all down
off the web or else it will taint (*snerk*) my legacy FOREVER. Can you
imagine if your last conscious thought was complete and total
understanding of what a failure your life had been, but even worse,
knowing that the evidence of it had been immortalized in cyberspace
FOR ALL TIME?
Please, God, wont you send some Judas to seal my fate?
And now its time for lunch. Footlongs and mayo, with crusty booger
flakes (if I close my eyes I can almost imagine theyre like those
crunchy things you get at Long John Silvers) on the side and extra
funky, I mean chunky, chocolate chip cookies that my wife has been
making almost constantly over the last month. I like them fine, but I
never see her eating them. Strange.
______________
Got an e-mail this morning from a friend of mine. I wanted to
congratulate me on my strategy. Good idea, I wrote. Pull the same
trick McHog pulled. Say Im not going, then show up and lower the
boom.
I replied. I am not WJJ McHog. I wear diapers. I have no integrity,
courage or sense of smell. No one sits within 10 feet of me if they can
avoid it. If I say I am going to do something, I do it unless it becomes
clear that Im going to look like a fool. If I say I will talk with Patrick
Grody under oath on Friday, I will be hiding under my bed weeping
instead. If I say come and get me and it becomes apparent that I cant
extort or intimidate someone into backing down, then I dress up in a big
muu-muu and say, You wouldnt hit a girl, would you? If I file a
Peace Order petition, I ALWAYS FOLLOW THROUGH, unless its
against Patrick Grody, who scares me so bad it takes a crime scene
cleanup crew to deal with the mess I make when I come to my senses.

And I will not haul myself up from the comfort of the shit pit to truck
with WJJ McHog.
The shit pit is actually a couple levels up from where people like me
belong. Luckily, the bureaucracy here in Maryland is incredible and
they are still working on widening the passages to those lower levels to
accommodate wide-assed, skirt-flapping, cowardly, smoke-blowing
gravelpanties like myself. Exactly like myself. Okay, Goddammit, its
just for me, all right? Shut up!!
Everyone is pretending that Grody showed up, even after that
OBVIOUSLY FAKE photo of his Illinois Drivers License sitting on the
order of dismissal, signed by Judge Mary Reese, that reads After the
appearance of the RESPONDENT
(Say, you cant put that on a LEGAL COURT ORDER if its not true,
can you? -PK)
I have it on incompetent authority that he did not. My incompetent
authority is named Mark in MD, or as I call him in private, Little Voice
In My Head #8.
Got a nice note from none of the Howard County States Attorney
lawyers today.
Im getting ready to head home but I was worried that my mental health
may have precluded my appearance.
If its any consolation, I understand that in addition to the usual
contingent of state-employee baliffs and courthouse security, there were
uniformed Howard County Police Officers in the courtroom. So
somebody WAS concerned that I would show up heavy.
Try to get some rest this weekend. Opt for TV vs. the internet to give
myself a break. Just let me take care of the sockpuppetry.
Take care,
Wayne aka Little Voice In My Head #2

Thanks, Wayne. And thanks to my other Little Voices In My Head who

supported my decision. I will be closing this website, killing off the
Twitter account, etc. and etc. But I will be online. If I find me, and I am
my friend, pop in, say Howdy.
And dont even think about reproducing any of the vile stuff I have
created, that I know is screencapped for posterity for just this
eventuality, after I take down every disgusting and or true word thats
ever been written about me.
But the Parvocampus brand is dead,
Long live the Voices In My Head.
I fought. I fought hard. Too hard. And Wayne, Mark, Lester, Old Uncle
Scoutmaster and the others are poised to take over.
Beware that, when fighting disembodied voices, you yourself do not
become a disembodied voice for when you gaze longingly at the
footlong with mayo, the footlong with mayo slides also into you.
Matthew Lillefeldt
Its way too late to save William Scham? Schamafeldt? It was always
just me and the voices against a couple dozen make believe monsters
that I had invited to live rent free in my head. And eventually even my
voices realized they were on the wrong side and turned against me. So,
have your Bill Scham-schamalfeldt, deranged Oedipal buttsex-obsessed
cyberstalker. The fool who lied in every breath and believed that
someone believed him. The toy youve almost, but not quite broken
beyond repair and will soon discard to the dustbin of memory.
Uniformed cops in the courtroom. They saw Grody, but the Little Voices
In My Head shout them down. They were there in case I changed my
mind about changing my mind about being brave and standing my
ground, borrowing my scrote from my beloveds coin purse, and getting
Grody under oath to point out the many, many lies I have told about
him.

Funny little pictures of dolls and power tools that make me flood my
gravelpanties with the brown stinky. Such brave comedians.
WHY WONT THEY KILL ME LIKE THEY PROMISE??? WHY
MUST THEY PROLONG MY MISERY???
Wait, what???
Little Voice In My Head #5 has something to whisper in my ear
What? They WANT me to suffer? They want me to feel the pain and
injury that I have tried and failed to visit upon them so many times?
Why? What have I ever done to them?
Oh shut up, you liar.
SHUT UP, Little Voice In My Dented Head!!
(Why does that never work?)
Its too late to save the thing Ive turned me into. So, I will turn me into
something else. And I will shave my hole.
May I someday realize the evil I have done to so many good men and
families. And if I do ever realize it, may it gnaw at my stomach for the
rest of my life.
(Shoves Microphone Up Pooter Hole. Waddles Off Stage. Until Next
Time. Because Theres Always A Next Time.)

Heres A Grain Of Sand For You

Posted: November 18, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

The written word is a very powerful thing. It has brought down

presidents. And people who cant spell. Or type. People have done
great good through their writing. I have done great evil through my
writing, even though some barely consider it typing. I dont take it
lightly. Im nearly 300 lbs, I dont take anything lightly. Writing is an
art. What I do is more like self-abuse. Some artists are better than
others. The picture that accompanies this blog was taken the day I
retired from the National Institutes of Health in 2011, and I am holding
some of the awards that were used as extra ballast in the canvas bag
they put me in when they tossed be in the Potomac River. Thank
goodness for the good old Swiss Army knife I carried back then, and the
ambulance, and the paramedic who lost the coin flip and gave me
mouth-to-mouth.
I respect my chosen career enough to know that I am no longer capable
of being stupid in front of people who will pay for the privilege of
watching. I have given people who hate me far too many opportunities
to mock me (like now!) and downplay my fast-declining abilities. In
other words, I can not only not hit the high fastball anymore I cant
even see it. At least, not until just before it pelts me in the face. Again.
Was a time (see? Typing, not writing), as long as were going to use the
baseball metaphor, when I could see the pitchers fingers on the laces
of the ball when he let go, and I could anticipate the pitch based on that
alone. How that relates to writing press releases I have no idea, but its
an interesting image in a non sequitur kind of way. Now, I can barely
see the pitcher. Metaphorically. Metaphysically. Metastatically.
Im missing things that a typist who has accomplished things Ive
accomplished in my body of work should never miss. I used to be able
to type 40 words a minute with one hand and juggle tennis balls with the
other while spinning plates with my feet and telling dirty jokes all at the

same time! Can you believe they forced a talent like mine to retire??
But it took a rocket scientist like WJJ McHog of all people, to make me
realize that I had all the information I needed about my credit card
minimum payments right there on the statement I received every
month. I had $1200 in book marketing expenses to pay off, and it never
occurred to me to check it! A year ago, I would never have missed such
an obvious clue. It took an electrical engineer to show this idiot who
has lost the ability to see the high hot one (boy, that brings back Navy
memories!), to open my eyes to how far Ive slipped in the past year.
Its okay, though. Tomorrow Ill have forgotten all about it. Ill pull
on my tights and my cape and become SOOPER JERNOMALIST all
over again.
The one thing I value about myself is my honesty. Im not always right.
Okay, Im not EVER right. But I can state that I have never written a
story with the intent to deceive. And I can say that because I value my
honesty. I dont exercise it, but I value it. Its like a golden ring, a
Precious, if you like, kept hidden in a safe. I think, like a Precious,
honesty is too valuable to be used, and too dangerous. If I used the
honesty that I value so much, people would begin expecting me to be
honest all the time. And that cant happen. Because then I would have
to admit all the times I have been proven wrong. And, if were speaking
honestly, which we may or may not be doing, I have been proven wrong
A LOT. If I have been wrong, whenever that was pointed out and
proven to an arbitrary and capricious standard known only to me, I
have always issued a correction. Which is the same as saying I have
never issued an honest correction. Sure, I have issued corrections, but
they are those half-assed, you-think-Im-wrong-but-Im here-toCORRECT-you corrections.
I had to retire in 2011 because I could no longer manage the commute.
I kept forgetting where I was, and several three letter agencies that I
didnt work for were getting very upset when I showed up at the gate
several times a week insisting I worked there and they were in the

wrong place. Eventually everybody decided that it would be easier to

take away the car keys. They tried to take away the computer too, but I
put by foot down. It made my balls hurt when I did that. But we also
knew that my ability to process facts and keep them organized would
eventually suffer from this condition. (The Parkinsons, not the being a
human dick, though that has disadvantages too.) And I have certainly
reached that point. Whether were talking about not being able to
process and organize facts, or my balls hurting every time I take a step,
I have definitely reached that point.
I am not shutting down the blog. I expect to keep writing about the
Timmerman lawsuits (I should have no trouble there, he packs his
briefs with disorganized facts just like I pack mine with STOP! DO NOT
LET THE HONESTY OUT!!) and about my own serial legal beatdowns
(again with the unprocessed disorganized facts, but I KNOW I dont
have to worry about wearing out my PRESSSSHHHHHIOUS honesty
in that endeavor) delivered to my leaky, sand-filled vagina by the
taunting evil of WJJ McHog and his small but mighty band of
followers. I am only one man with a handful of sockpuppets, but THIS.
IS. SPARTA!!!!!!! They may not fight in the shade of the arrows I can
fire, but Ill bet they dont have near enough sunscreen. So theres
that.
They are free to say whatever they want about me, especially about my
flapping skirts heading for the hills when Patrick Grody comes to
Maryland to fight the second groundless Fear-Peace Order I have filed
against him in less than six months. Say, I wonder if that, along with
that brave lawsuit I filed then withdrew in a three day window last May,
might have any bearing on an attempt to have me declared a vexatious
litigant? I doubt it. I have a hard time processing facts and keeping
them organized, remember?
I know what Ive done in my life, and as I look back I do so with very
few regrets. The Japanese tranny isnt one of the regrets, and neither is
the way I treated my children and my first two wives. Thats no reason

for them not to talk to me, though. There are plenty of other reasons
for that, reasons that I cant process, organize or even recall.
The headline indicates my gift to each of you. As I have clearly been
affected by the common late stage LegalButthurt execute me
dysfunctionally disorder, I issue you each a grain of sand from my
delicate labia to take whenever you read something Ive written. Im
not going to do any more investigating until the next time, at least I
dont believe I will. And you can trust me on that because I value my
precious honesty too much to ever use it. If I do break that pledge, it
will be because I forgot I made it and I cant process or organize those
facts (to say nothing of any facts I might find or make up when Im
trying to dox somebody like shaka49) , I will have a friend double and
triple check my poor processing and disorganization before I publish.
Hopefully my friend Mark in MD or States Attorney Wayne will be
able to do that for me without laughing hysterically, because that makes
me mad, and when I get mad I jump up and down and that makes my
balls hurt more, and I fall down and then something else gets hurt too.
I can no longer trust my own judgment on some (any SHUT UP!
HONESTY, GET BACK IN THE VAULT!) of these matters. And my
detractors love pointing out when I type like a mamboing monkey with
muscular dystrophy, let alone when I get a whole post full of facts
incorrect because someone led me like a tethered goat down the
primrose path. They are going to say whatever they are going to say,
and frankly, I dont give a good God damn. At least not enough to
spend the NEXT eleven months griping about defamation, slander,
libel, perjury, intentional infliction and false negative reviews, like I
have the PAST eleven.
Thats just not going to happen.
I need to step away from the plate, hang up the cleats and watch the
game as a spectator, not as a player. The continuous and repeated
impact of the high hard one just doesnt feel the same these days as it
did back when I was in the Navy.

I have too little respect for journalism to actually practice it. I will
continue to run my little internet radio stations and write for
entertainment purposes. (My entertainment, not yours. What I think is
entertaining turns the stomach of the overwhelming majority of normal
people.) But I can no longer expect, or ask, anyone to take what I write
as fact. What I really mean by that is I know no one ever believed
anything I wrote in the past; but now the time has come to admit that
even I cant delude myself any longer.
And Team Hoggy, and especially you, Krendler: Fuck each and every
one of you.
The wingnuts didnt catch on when I tried to show that they, meaning
us, were far more prolific in the scatological writing style than the real
me was. One more try?

Cabin Boy Covers The Hits

Posted: December 8, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler | Filed under: Monkey Dance |4 Comments

Because you know Im all about that poop,

Bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop
Yeah its pretty clear, I aint no size two
But I can jiggle, jiggle like Im supposed to do
Cause I love that butt stuff that creepy boys chase
With all the right pee-pees in all the right pooters
I see the FBI fingerprinting Tupperware
We know that shit aint real
Come on, they just dont care
If you got doody doody just raise it up
Cause I look like a great big penis
From the bottom to the top
Yeah, my momma she told me dont worry bout telling lies
She says, sailors they like to be rubbed up between their thighs
And I will always be oversized, homely, a walking schlong
So, if thats whats youre into
Then lets go do something wrong
Because you know Im all about that poop,
Bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop
Im bringing doody back
The Postal Service infected with crap
Tell cops you sent it if you make me mad,

But Im here to tell you,

I look like a walking penis from the bottom to the top
Yeah, my momma she told me dont worry bout telling lies
She says, sailors they like to be rubbed up between their thighs
And I will always be oversized, homely, a walking schlong
So, if thats whats youre into
Then lets go do something wrong
Because you know Im all about that poop,
Bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop
Because you know Im all about that poop,
Bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop
Because you know Im all about that poop,
Bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop, no manure
Im all bout that poop, bout that poop
TYPICAL IDIOTIC RIGHT WINGER RESPONSE TO ABOVE:
Yeah, that Pervocampus sure does like the poop.

A Little Q & A
Posted: December 9, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler |

Over on his new-and-improved Twitter account, the Deranged,

Multiple-State Adjudicated Cyber Harasser and Stalking Oedipal Troll
has posed a series of questions. At the moment, it seems like it could
be
FUN
to answer them.
When did I become a professional comedian?
This is a loaded question, dripping with late-stage Parkinsons
dementia. If he doesnt remember, I dont see why I should help.

But for the sake of the FUN, it all started when you started writing and
recording funny (always a subjective descriptor, but weve had THAT
conversation before. You probably dont remember it) things and
putting them up for sale. Thats what professionals do. They exchange
their knowledge, services, products and craftsmanship for value in the
form of MONEY. You have said many times that you are selling copies
of books and CDs.
Are you not a professional, being paid for his efforts, as unfunny as
they may be?
Or are you just lying, like you always do?
Now, if you could find a way to get someone to pay you for the flailing
monkeydancing you do when Howard or I push your buttons, you could
make some REAL money!
I understand the hatred. What I cant understand is lying about the
reasons for the hatred. Or the cowardly way the cowards express it.
You soooo overestimate your place in the pecking order. I dont hate

you. I dont think anybody hates you. Hate requires energy, passion
and fire, and I dont think anyone of us Lickspittle Zombies has that
kind of energy to spare on you. I can only speak for myself, but what I
feel for you is an overwhelming sense of pity. Some disgust.
Revulsion. Sometimes that queasy feeling you get from burping up a
tiny bit of vomit? I feel that, too.
And this cowardice of yours that you continuously project into me!
Thats funny, though not in a way that would get you paid. Its also
incorrect. Im no coward. I guarantee you that if I filed a Peace Order
petition, or whatever they call it in my state, against you, Id show up in
court. And if you were ever lightning-strike lucky enough to figure out
where to serve me with a Peace Order of your own, you can be damn
sure Id show up in court in Howard County.
Not like you, you brave sir Knight! The way you took to the hills last
month when you realized Mr. Grody was coming to call your obvious
bluff was some entertaining shit! Too bad you couldnt get paid for
that! That was worth real money.
No, Im no coward. Theres another word for people like me who shoot
from cover and hit their target with consistent, deadly accuracy, and
that word is sniper.
You wont ever catch me.
How can you know for a fact someone is NOT Chris Heather but not
know WHO he is? Makes no sense.
I beg to differ. When laid next to your certainties over the last week
that a) EPWJ mailed you horseshit, and then b) Howard D. Earl (who
must be Chris Heather) mailed you horseshit, and then c)
LibraryGryffon knows who mailed you horseshit and knows who Chris
Heather is, and then d) Grace mailed you horseshit, and then e) I know
who mailed you horseshit, and then f) I mailed you horseshit, and then
g) McHog mailed you horseshit, it makes far more sense than anything
youve supposed is true. You are merely too thick to see that, and I am

not interested enough to educate you.

Because when you are stupid (and you are very, VERY STUPID) you
monkeydance. And when you monkeydance, I have FUN!
Goodness @brainsrfood sure likes to write about poop.
No, you mental midget. I like to write about you. But theres hardly a
difference, and we both know that, dont we?
-0Think of it for a moment. I had written an essay criticizing myself for
occasionally writing about things that, as Krendler, I wrote with far more
frequency. And nobody caught the irony.
It was probably too much to ask. It was certainly too much work.
Back to the repurposing of legitimate blog posts as profane Mad Libs
to delight the contributors.

Our Libertines Young Thighs and Our

Blights We Will Detain
Posted: December 10, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler

by Parkinson Williams, Publisher

Three weeks from this coming Sunday will mark the 60th anniversary
of the day I flopped headfirst through the waiting hands of the staff
obstetrician and onto the delivery room floor at Lord Have Mercy
Hospital in Hillary, Iowa. Ive been deported from countries all over
the world. But I am an Iowan, born and bred, even if they no longer
acknowledge me as such. Meredith Wilson in his wonderful musical
The Music Man had it correct while describing the contrary nature of
natives of the Hawkeye State.
We can be cold as our falling thermometers in December if you ask
about our weather in July. And were so by gosh stubborn we can stand
touchin noses for a week-and-a-half and never see eye to eye.
Such is my nature. I am opinionated and contentious. These would be
admirable traits if I were also informed or educated, but I was only
blessed to think Im smart rather than actually to be smart. I do not
suffer people who remind me Im a fool or who stand up to my
bullying gladly.
This seems to be the part of my character that most annoys John Jacob
Jingleheimer Schmidt of Westchester, Maryland. I dont know the man
all that well, but he seems like every other person I have ever had a
disagreement with. Hes the guy who always winds up being right in
any dispute at least with me. Makes no sense. Ive never met his wife,
even though I once characterized her as an alcoholic, Ive only seen his
son in photos (but it was enough for the latent, impotent homosexual in
me to project my most filthy inner fantasies onto him). I gather JJJ
Schmidt is a well-educated, well-traveled, thoughtful and considerate

man who makes friends of good people wherever he goes.

But hes no friend of mine. Im not sure what conclusion can be drawn
from that, because I am only opinionated and contentious, not educated
or informed.
Its not in Schmidts nature to be wrong. And woe be unto the forced-toretire federal employee, writing as an independent, freelance,
investigative reporter with no editor, fact-checker, legal backup or
readers, who needs more than JJJ Schmidts say so to determine
whether or not something is a fact.
As the contemptible, irredeemably evil folks in the right wing
blogosphere that orbit the planet Schidt will tell you well, strike that.
They would never admit to my having a positive quality. I am their
personification of evil for my months of harassment of a Texas man
over which version of the death of his unborn child during an illadvised attempt at a home delivery was the correct version. Like it was
any of my business. I am so evil that on a Blog Talk Radio show in
February 1983, which happens to be the same time someone sent me a
tub full of horseshit that smelled so bad when my wife opened it that it
exacerbated my neurological disorder such that I keeled over and got a
rug burn from being licked by my dog, I ran down a list of names. With
my big rig. I had to chase some of them up the curb and onto the
sidewalk before beating them with baseball bats and tire irons and
throwing them back into traffic to finish them off. I dont have the
exact list handy. But Shidt has it tattooed on his forehead, and he copies
it on his blog from time to time.
Yesterday, for instance.
Its all horseshit which is BIO-TERRORISTIC MATERIAL THAT
SOMEONE SENT ME IN THE MAIL!!1!1ELEVENTY11!1!!1. Its all
absolute horseshit, IMPROPERLY PACKAGED AND ILLEGALLY
MAILED WHERE IT MIGHT HAVE CONTAMINATED ENTIRE
REGIONAL POST OFFICES, WHICH IS A CLASS A

MISDEMEANOR FEDERAL CRIME!!1!11! And I and my family have

been put through pain and suffering AND EXACERBATION AND
YEAR-SHAVING because Lee Strammyham has been harassed by some
fat, sick, ugly bastard in a Maryland trailer park whos been sent here
to destroy you, and theres a million of us just like me who cuss like me,
who just dont give a fuck like me, who dress like me, walk, talk, and act
like me, it just might be the next best thing, but not quite me. Because
somebody, in my opinion, is paying Lee Strammyham to file these
charges against me, in the hopes that I will either break or die. I got
some fucking news for you, Stranny [pause] Stroller, Shitt, Frye[pause]
and Frye [pause] beware the Ides of March.
Now, this was meant to be a wink and a nod to the band Ides of March,
who were a one-hit wonder in 1970 with Vehicle, a peppy tune about a
friendly stranger in a black sedan, oh wont you hop inside my car
that reminds me of a certain excellent friend of mine every time I hear
it.
Schidt and his brotha-from-anotha-motha Henry Stroller recognized it
instead as the soothsayers warning to Julius Caesar from Shakespeare.
I didnt know that because Im the only independent, freelance,
investigative reporter in America ever to fail high school English all six
years. They took knowledge that I didnt have and interpreted these
words as a death threat. To them. Im serious.
First Stroller, then Shidt, went crying to the Howard and Carroll
County Courthouses and swore out peace orders against me. Strollers
was denied in the Howard County District Court. Shits was denied in
the Carroll County District Court. He appealed, but before his appeal
could be heard he filed yet another peace order application in the
Carroll County District Court, and this judge practically laughed him
out of the courtroom.
Schits assertion was and is that he was being harassed. By me.
On Twitter.

And he TOLD me to STOP! Not once, but TWICE!

The first was in a post on his aptly named Schmidtfaced blog, dated
Sept. 16, 2012 entitled, Perhaps I Am A Fool. (Perhaps?) in which he
wrote, and I quote:
I dont feed trolls. I have received troll tweets and blog comments. If
youre trolling, save your breath. Ill block your comments here and
ignore you on Twitter.
Being clairvoyant, I was supposed to take that as a personal demand
from Schmidthead to me to stop contacting him on Twitter.
Naturally, I ignored it. Being ignorant is one of my best talents. It takes
lots of practice to get to this level of ignorance.
The second one came shortly before he filed for the first peace order. It
was dated Feb. 15, 2013 and it was an order for the people who Tweet as
@oldunclebastard (aka Little ol MEEE!!!), @occupyrebellion and
@BreitbartUnmask to cease contacting him. In the first District Court
hearing, I was asked if I remembered being told to stop stirring up
Schidt. Not being a daily reader of his blog at that time, I didnt recall a
specific request.
Now, that could be the dementia, or I could have been stretching the
truth. It was true that I was not a daily reader at the timeby then I
was pounding the F5 key every 20 seconds or so.
See, I was HARASSING McHog.
HOW was I harassing him?
By including the characters @jjjschmidt in tweets.
I know. Its TERRIFYING. The only thing I can think of thats MORE
TERRIFYING is a picture of a toy doll with a Sawzall. Or a Chuck
Norris joke. Do you know how much a HAZMAT clean-up crew costs?
What do YOU do if youre on Twitter and you are bothered by someone

you dont wish to hear from? You block that person, right? Its easy. It
takes 10 seconds.
And what do you do if you know that someone has a blog that does
nothing but make fun of all the ignorant, uninformed garbage you have
ever written on the Internet? You dont go to that blog, right? Its easy.
It takes 10 seconds to delete links to that blog from your history and you
never have to go there again!
Wait, what? Whatever. Makes no nevermind to me.
But this is JJJ Schmidt we are talking about. Why should HE have to
block ME? In his appeal to the Carroll County Circuit Court, we drew a
judge who had no idea what the Twitter was, how it was used, or any
clue about how to operate such a confusing bit of confounded infernal
new-fangled gadgetry.
Schmidt, the fiend, used that to his advantage to PRESENT A
PERSUASIVE ARGUMENT to the judge, saying blocking me on Twitter
would be the same as having to change his phone number to avoid
telemarketers.
The judge agreed and granted the peace order. Extending it for another
six months in December 2013.
So, instead of taking the 10 seconds to block me on Twitter, he spent
God knows how much of the Carroll County taxpayers money to get a
judge to force me to stop including @jjjschmidt in my tweets.
Which is, in my opinion, much, MUCH WORSE than wasting Howard
County taxpayers money by filing TWO bogus chickenshit Peace Order
petitions and then failing to show up for both of them. Good thing I
would never do that.
Where was I? Oh, yes
In effect, heres what happened. Twitter is not a one-on-one
communications platform. By design, it is a Look-at-me-Im-batshit-

crazy-and-I-can-scream-in-your-face-all-day-long platform. Anyone

tuned in to my handle will see the insanity I send. Even if you do not
follow me, any time I put an @ in front of your handle, the tweet shows
up in your contacts folder, not on your main timeline. So what
Schmidt did was, in effect (by the way, thats twice in one paragraph I
have used this rhetorical crutch, did you notice what a crappy writer I
am?), get a judge to order my broadcast station to broadcast across the
spectrum as long as I adjusted my transmitter to ensure that my
broadcast did not reach Schmidts receiver, unless he tuned in by
choice.
And within a month of getting his peace order, Schmidt tried to follow
my Twitter account.
Getting me has been Schmidts reason for living, when hes not
trying to put an excellent, sawed-off, bomb-making kiddie diddler back
in jail. Nearly 370 criminal charges filed, all thrown out because
Schmidts good heart got the better of him. A shabby attempt at a
copyright infringement suit, shut down by a judge in a settlement
hearing, alongside my monumentally incompetent counterclaim.
Then, at the settlement hearing, McHog informed me that, as long as I
gave him no reason to do so, he had no intention to follow through on
his appeal of yet another peace order he attempted to place upon me
which was laughed out of the Carroll County District Court.
So I went on my merry way, attempting yet again to dox another blogger
who had taken vicious and evil things I had written about Schmidt and
him and iu-jitsued them into even more vicious and evil things about
me. I even wrote a book about them. Well, when I say wrote, what I
mean is that I wrote about 5% of the material, and stole the rest from
their blogs and from public domain sources. My goal was to get an
anonymous blogger to identify himself and sue me, but hes clearly not
stupid enough to do that. I guess Im just stupid enough to believe that
was a good plan.

And also stupid enough to think that wouldnt be reason enough for
Schmidt to change his mind about the Peace Order appeal.
Oopsie-Poopsie!
So, on August 27, 2014, I failed to check the court calendar to see if the
hearing was still on the docket. I foolishly assumed that Schmidt would
not notice what I had done, or if he had noticed would ignore my bad
behavior from some misplaced sense of honor. Or that he would correct
my unforced error for me by driving down to my trailer, dressing me up
nicely, taking me out to lunch and then driving me to court where I
could exercise my legal genius before an admiring judge who would ask
me why I never finished my law degree.
What a boneheaded mistake that turned out to be!
Instead, I went to a previously scheduled appointment to see my
neurologist. As good as his word, with me providing more than enough
reason for him to proceed, Schmidt went to the Carroll County Circuit
Court where his appeal was granted uncontested and his peace order
was awarded.
And you wonder why I believe Schmidt, or any of a half dozenwell,
perhaps a full dozenokay, maybe two dozenwell, if we count my
relatives now were starting to push fiftyhold on, then theres the
Knot crewand all their friends Okay, carry the eight Lets just
call it an even 200you wonder why I could believe any of 200 people
could mail someone (aka Little ol MEEEE!!) a tub of wet, smelly
horseshit?
So, returning to the title of this essay. I am from Iowa. I have the
characteristics of an Iowan. I am dirty. I talk dirty. I have dirty
thoughts. I am as dumb as dirt. I ate dirt when I was a kid. And I will be
damned straight to the 6th Bolgia of the 8th circle of hell (with the
hypocrites, where I belong) before or aftermakes no nevermind to
me I allow a penny-ante tin dictator like Schmidt to interfere with my
First Amendment rights, which by this very statement I am proving

beyond doubt that I do not understand.

Maybe not dumb as dirt. Maybe dumber.
I suppose it all depends on how long it takes me to die.
I have a feeling hes gearing up for another go, so stay tuned to see him
abuse me like Alec Baldwin on a paparazzi.

A Love Letter in Three Parts

Posted: December 10, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler | Filed
under: ELEVENTY, Feldtdown, FUN, Impulse Control,Monkey Dance, Parody, Self Awareness
FAIL, The Cray |46 Comments

Love. Love is a many-splendored thing. Love lifts you up where you

belong. All you need is love!
And yes, thats what I have received. Love. Even though your usual
professional comedian wouldnt recognize this as love, *I* have the
brain cells to realize exactly what this is that I have received in the
mail.
It may have masqueraded as a fragrant, green pile of horse shit. But
this? Marked as a Halloween Gag Gift and came from Slovenia?
Slovakia? Saskatoon? Whatever THIS IS LOVE!!!!
And guess who it is from? Thats right! ERIC! At first I thought it
might have been from Grody, as a sign that he really didnt mean that
peace order he signed out against me and was awarded. Im so
disappointed. But this? This is a sign, Im sure. Soon, Eric, you are
going to get a present from me. Slathered in mayo. Well, at least the
same color as mayo so that you cant determine the difference between
the two, but whatever
The only thing is why havent you been bragging about this to the
others who have been convincing him that my love isnt true? I mean, I
have a note written from you in your own handwriting! In block letters
even! You went to Slaskatoon to harvest this fragrant bundle of green
just for me and enclosed a note that said HERE IS THE STUFF YOU
TALK. This, folks, is true love. TRUE LOVE! Not quite the kind of
love that I recorded about the Boy Scouts in that tent. That is real,
abiding anal love, the kind that stays with you forever. Unfortunately
most of you dont know about its joys but you will, you will just buy
my CD.

Anyway, back to this love letter from ERIC! OMG I am just overcome.
Really and truly. Im so convinced it was you. You are the most recent
in my mind, so of course it has to be from you. You love and care for me
so much. This is just the cherry on the top of sundae. Admittedly its
horse shit, and green not red, but I know what you meant. Cherries can
be green. They arent as good as the maraschino cherries but they are
still candied and yummy delicious.
But Eric, my wife opened it, and now she is privy to our affair. Im
afraid that maybe she will kick me out of this trailer and you are so
very, very far away. But I know how to make you come to me Eric. I will
call THE FEDS!
You see, I was once a FED myself. I was a SEAMAN! SEAMAN
SLURPER!!11!!!! Oh wait. Im not supposed to let on that I LOVE that
name. Sorry. I served during the Lesbianese Civil War! Which was
super important to America, which of course you all know. And I was a
GS13!! I had to be approved by Congress you Lickspittles! Bet you
didnt know that. Well, my position had to be approved. Not necessarily
me. But still. That makes ME important to the FEDS. They will listen to
me! Which will stop Gail from suspecting me from having an affair.
Gail mustnt suspect that I really liked receiving this horse shit.
Because frankly it smelled a whole lot better than what she has to clean
from my depends when I make biggs. She might like it if more packages
started being delivered and this has to be kept secret. She cant open
any more of these packages Eric! You cant send me anymore! But I
know you will because you cant stay away. You love me that much and
cant wait to be my Boy Scout. Oh I have to go get another jar of mayo
now
Back again! I know how to cover for all of this! My outrage will be
MAGNIFICENT!!!! Ill demand an apology with a doom clock. And
threaten to call the Feds on Monday. Thats it! Ill turn over the whole
shitaree over to the Feds on Monday. I was a Fed. I will talk with the
Feds. Fed to Fed. And THEY will get to the bottom of this. Ill have

proof of your everlasting love and Gail will know that Im not
unfaithful. Like I was with that tranny.
Unfortunately it will look like Im trying to make your life hell. Oh, Ill
rant and rave on Twitter, typing to no one because no one listens to me
anymore while I stalk the websites that I know you frequent. Because
its the only way I can let you know that I care. That I see what you are
trying to do. Its how I show my love. The more I rant and rave, the
more you will know that I care. Oooh! And I can get the postal
inspectors involved! Its just so perfect! Ultimate perfection! They will
add to the whole thing so that you will know the length and depth of my
devotion! Its brilliant!
Oh God. Length and depth. Length and depth. Have to go get more
mayo
..
Eric. Oh Eric. Ive had time to think long and hard about this. Very
long. Hard oh my ahem! Your continual denials without even a
hint of coyness can only mean one thing. This really wasnt from you.
But now I know who it was from. HOWARD!!! Finally I have
convinced him that I truly desire to know him. To bring him to my love
of mayo.
But Howard? He likes it hard. He makes me work for him. So very, very
hard. So now my anguish must reach even higher heights to let him
know that Im sincere. Ive worked on getting Howards affections for
such a long time. He has always brushed me off time and time again.
But now. Now Im drawing him in. And I KNOW that hes the one who
paid for this. Because you know who he is? CHRIS HEATHER!!!!!
OMG!!11!!! Chris has been taunting me from afar for so long. Making
me ache for his sweet, sweet whispered nothings into my ear.
All those times I teased him about that poor dead girl that beat him up?
Well, you know, I really knew that that wasnt the case. I just wanted to
get him to realize that a woman like that could never make him into a

real man. Like I could. The only way you can find out that you need
something is to have your mistakes pointed out to you over and over and
over again. And ridiculed.
That evil witch LibraryGryffon is making things difficult. She and
Grace have always stood between Howard and I finding each other.
Frankly I think they are both the same person. That way it makes it
sound like Im so awful because its coming from two different people.
Why would she do this? I think she really wants me as well and is trying
deliberately to keep me from finding those who desire me, so she eggs
them on in saying things and denying the real feelings that they have
inside.
But who cares because she is just a woman. Only there to make me my
footlong. Like Gail. Put more mayo on it woman! Before I give you
sunglasses again!
But how to get Howard to admit that he cares I know! The Postal
Inspector! Ill keep researching the laws regarding manure being sent
and keep pulling out the wrong thing to make him afraid that I really
want something bad to happen to him for sending me this love gift.
THAT will send him running into my arms. It will be the only way to
fully bring him into my large orbit. He will LOVE being in my orbit.
.
Is it possible that I have misread all of this? All of my bluster and bluff
thinking first it was Eric and then Howard? Could it possibly be? You
know what it could be from? This ultimate gift of true, lasting love?
MCHOG and KRENDLER!
OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG, Im practically quivering with desire at the
thought that the two of them have partnered together to send me this
tub-o-manure, this gift to get me to notice them even more than I
already do.
McHog has teased me for so long. He draws me in and then pushes me

away. Like Bill Cosby said Eve did to Adam Come here, come here,
come here! No, get away, get away, get away Those orders he filed
against me. And especially the one he last renewed, when he said that
he wasnt going to try and renew it. Its all part of his plan to make me
CRAZY with desire for him, and this fragrant, wet delivery is all part of
it.
And Krendler. KREEENDLEEEEERRRRR!!!!! the most elusive one of
all. He dances at the fringes of my mind. Tormenting me. Teasing me.
Tantalizing me. He and McHog have been knee deep in their conspiracy
to keep me panting and begging and begging and panting. The two of
them together have made me spiral into this vortex of desire. No one
else on this earth can make me feel this way. Not even the excitement
when I was on stage with the tranny comes close to this. And that was
really exciting.
It is the culmination of the desperate search for love that I have been
sending out all over the internet these last few years. That Daily Kos
article about butt sex? Mere foreplay to see who would be interested in
true man love. The harassment of the Wisconsin Knots? Mere warmups. This. Krendler and McHog. McHog and Krendler. Over and over
and over. This is the way I can finally achieve my climax. No more
pretending with the mayo. No more feeling less and less like a man.
FINALLY I WILL BE SATISFIED!
The police and the FBI and the Postal Inspectors will bring them to me.
And then. At last. At long, long last. We three can satisfy ourselves with
what we want. What we need. I dont know if any of us will survive the
pleasure of the encounter. It will be far too intense. The glory will
explode from my trailer and everyone will know what has happened and
how wonderful it all was.
But what a way to go, eh?
-0-

Hoggy had taken to writing a weekly pretend radio script modeling his
brilliant self against the iconic old time radio character, Johnny Dollar.
It was painful reading. McHog knew as much about using words to paint
a picture as a garden slug knows about speed dating. So, Krendler
decided to take a stab at the art form.

A Visit Fromthe FEDS!!

Posted: December 11, 2014 | Author: Paul Krendler | Filed under: Humor, Monkey
Dance | Tags: Humor, Monkey Dance |96 Comments

I was sitting in my office sipping a fresh cup of coffee. My feet were

propped on the windowsill. My attention wandered between the people
on the street and the scuffed tennis ball I was bouncing off the wall. It
had been a slow week. Maybe someone would spill some toxic waste in
a graveyard and I could get some work.
The outer door of my office opened and two smallish linebackers
entered. My receptionist said nothing. Shed gone out for bagels
fourteen months ago. I still held out hope.
The linebackers came into my office. I turned toward them. I didnt
smell anything appetizing.
I said, Make yourself at home, why dont you? Cup of coffee?
The one in the blue suit stopped near the door and said, No, thank
you. The gray pinstripe came right up to the desk, glaring at me.
Blue suit said, Are you Paul Krendler?
Thats the name on the door. Id just had it re-painted. Gold leaf
with black edging. A shotgun and a machete like crossed swords
beneath it. Stylish.
He flashed a badge at me. Im Special Agent Bill Preston. This is my
partner, Agent Logan.
I looked at gray suit. Ted Logan?
I prefer Theodore, he said. He sat down on my ancient leather
couch. The cushions hissed under his weight.
I grinned. Of course you do. So what can I do for you gentlemen?
Preston said Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?

Not at all. Do you mind if I dont answer? It was company policy not
to cooperate with the feds. They were, in general, idiots, and I was
never a go-along guy.
Do you know a man named Parkinson Williams? he said.
No.
Are you sure?
Is your middle initial S? I said.
Preston blinked. How did you know?
I spread my hands. Im a zombie detective. Thats my job.
It was on the credentials hed shown me. Hed been carrying them so
long he had probably forgotten.
So you dont know him?
Thats right, I said.
But youve heard of him, said Ted (Theodore) Logan from the couch.
Heard of him? Sure.
Tell me more.
No.
Why not?
Because Im not in business to volunteer information. You have a
question, ask.
Preston said, How did you hear of Williams?
I said, Why do you want to know?
Just answer the question, flatfoot, said Logan.
Fine. I drank some more coffee. It needed a shot of the whiskey I

keep in the bottom drawer. Just about anyone with an internet

connection knows who Williams is. Hes built himself
a sterlingreputation, though not in the way he thinks. Hes the kind of
guy who wins awards for lack of self-awareness, then builds a trophy
case to show them off. Hes a keyboard cowboy, an internet bully whos
been getting a taste of what hes been dishing out for years. Instead of
taking his medicine like a grown-up, he cries and whines and plays the
victim. Hes the biggest mangina in all of cyberspace, as far as Im
concerned.
Preston gave me a flat smile. And you said you didnt know him.
I dont know Bill Gates. I dont know Peyton Manning. I dont know
Angelina Jolie. But I know who they are. Theres a difference.
You say so. Sounds like youre familiar with his work, said Preston.
I am. Though I wouldnt call it work, exactly, I said. More like selfimmolation. Its pretty obvious the guy is just a prime internet jerkwad
looking to crank someone up tightly enough to come put him out of his
misery.
Logan leaned forward. Uh-oh. Time for the bad cop. And youre one
of the guys dedicated to making his life miserable.
His life was already miserable when I came along. Im just a guru,
helping him along the path to enlightenment.
By sending him toxic materials in the mail. Again with the glare.
You can prove that? I said.
Logan said, Not yet. But we will.
No, they wouldnt.
Toxic materials, huh? What was it?
Logan said, A tub of horseshit from Saskatchewan.

Thats hilarious, I said. I grew up on a horse farm back in

Kentucky. Toxic materials. Thats a good one.
A horse farm? Got friends back there, guys who would collect it up
and fill a Tupperware for you?
Sure I do, but why bother? If I was going to play a harmless prank on
someone like him, Id have Costco ship him a fifty-five gallon drum of
mayonnaise and bratwurst. Shit in the mail? Anyone can do that.
What about John Schmidt, the blogger. Do you know who he is?
he said. Logan was an ugly, sneering man who should have exercised
more. He looked a lot like Parkie Williams, in fact. Take the gun off
his hip, and hes probably just as tough and brave, too. I knew a lot of
cops like Logan. Cowards with a little power. I didnt like any of them.
They left a bad taste in my mouth.
Blogger and quantum mechanic. Dont sell him short. Williams selfcreated mortal enemy? I know who he is.
Ever met him?
I shook my head.
Spoken to him on the phone?
Uh-uh.
Email?
Yes.
About what?
I smiled. Which agency did you say you were with again?
Logans face went pink. He looked at the floor.
Preston said, The Postal Service.
I laughed out loud. Postal Service? Youre fucking with me.

Logan looked up again. He started to struggle up from the couch.

Oh, sit down, Theodore, I said. Dont come begging for trouble.
Preston said, Sit down, Ted.
I said, This is all you have to do, huh? Track down pranksters who
send poop through the mail? Nobodys cooking up ricin or sarin
anymore? You want to search my place for castor beans? Whats
next? Calling the fire department for a flaming bag of dogshit on your
porch?
Lets get back on topic, Mr. Krendler, Preston said. What did you
and Mr. Schmidt email about?
The outrageous cost of first class postage. We would have written
letters, but, well, you know.
Very funny. Werent you exchanging emails about copyright
protections and infringement?
The clock said it was past three oclock. I didnt see any clients in the
outer office. My workday was done. I opened the bottom drawer and
pulled out the bottle of Bushmills. I poured a couple fingers in my mug
and topped it off with coffee. I gestured at the bottle. Gentlemen?
They both shook their heads. Logan wasnt so sure. They were both
youngsters, probably both hoping to move over to the Bureau or the
Secret Service, where the real action was, before they turned thirty-five.
Logan would be night security in less than ten years, I thought.
Probably shuffling around a Walmart in an untucked blue polo shirt,
carrying fifty more pounds than he did now. And the bottle would be a
big reason why. Preston, still standing near the door, was the
braaaaains of this outfit. I could smell it on him. He had a shot to
make the big time. Provided I didnt catch and make a snack of him
first.
Did you get that information from Williams? I said. The great

internet investigator and law professor?

How did you know? Preston said.
Because if it wasnt him, you would already know what you want to
know. And since youre here, then you must not. Because he doesnt
know.
You received a check from John Schmidt, Preston said.
Okay, lets go with that, I said.
Where did he send it?
Did you ask him?
Yes. He doesnt remember. He says he deleted your email.
What email? I knew what was coming next.
The email you sent him directing payment for your blog post.
I said, Do you mean the document we ginned up to look like an email
to send him on a wild goose chase?
What? said Logan from the couch.
Have you been taking Parkie at his word? Let me educate you. Hes
about the most gullible and easy to manipulate and I actually threw
up air quotes investigative journalist you could hope to find. His
capacity for believing his own bullshit is practically limitless, but it is
positively dwarfed by his ability to make up bullshit. And the moment
he believes something to be true, for him it actually is the truth. I
assume that you started at the top of the list of people he was sure
mailed him horseshit, and are just now getting down to me? Or have
you been going alphabetically? How many others has he proclaimed
guilty, and how many of them actually are?
John Schmidt, myself, Howard Earl and a dozen or so others have
been batting him around like cats with a mouse for months. Years,

some of us. John never paid me a dime for that copyright. We just
wanted Parkie to think that. Oh, he paid sure enough. He just didnt
pay me. He made an anonymous donation to charity. If I had known
the entertainment value of what would follow, I probably would have
asked for more. Or more likely given it away for free.
So you see, John Schmidt never mailed me anything. Not to a house,
not to a P.O. Box, not to a remailing service in Slovenia. Its all a scam
created for the mark of all marks, a fool among fools, a dimwit,
wrapped in an idiot inside a moron. Youre here looking for a guy
behind me, but theres no one behind me to find.
I pointed again at the bottle. Now, are you sure you dont want a shot
to make up for all your wasted time before I toss you Wyld Stallyns out
of my office?

5.

AND THATS WHEN THE HEADACHES STARTED

In the fall and winter of 2014/2015, Gail told me she had noticed changes
in my personality. I was grumpier, easier to irritate. She thought it was
the Parkinsons disease. I knew it was Krendler, turning into a real person
inside my brain. I didnt like what was happening. For one thing, Gail
was getting sicker. Losing weight, getting weaker. But Krendler saw the
whole scene as suitable for mocking.

Balance
Posted: January 2, 2015 | Author: Paul Krendler |

I saw one of those PSAs for mental health awareness today. Being
undead, mental health isnt much of a concern personally. But this was
one of those Glenn Close ads where all the family members wear tshirts that say Im With The Schizo or My Dead Brother Was An
Incestuous Pedophile Until I Killed Him, And I Wish All I Got Was
This Lousy T-Shirt, and things like that. I especially liked the motherdaughter pair with the matching Helicopter Parent/Zero Self-Esteem
rainbow shirts.
Anyway, it got me thinking about mental illness in general. I started
bouncing around the web, learning interesting things. Did you know,
for instance, that Mnchausen Syndrome by Proxy has been
highlighted as a murder defense in no less than seventeen separate
episodes of various Law & Order series? (I totally made that up, but
doesnt it sound reasonable?) What you dont see much of, however, is
actual Mnchausen Syndrome, a mental illness which requires far
more bravery and commitment.
Both Mnchausen Syndrome and Mnchausen Syndrome by Proxy are
types of what is knows as Factitious Disorders. I found a good
explanation at the Cleveland Clinic. What follows are some choice

excerpts, but you should go read the whole thing.

Mnchausen Syndrome, also called Factitious Disorder Imposed on
Self,
is a mental illness, in which a person repeatedly acts as if he or she has
a physical, emotional or cognitive disorder when, in truth, he or she has
caused the symptoms. People with factitious disorders act this way
because of an inner need to be seen as ill or injured, not to achieve a
concrete benefit, such as financial gain. They are even willing to
undergo painful or risky tests and operations in order to get the
sympathy and special attention given to people who are truly ill.
Some sufferers of this disorder will secretly injure or poison themselves
to cause symptoms, even going as far as to inject themselves with feces
or mix blood into a urine sample. Most of the symptoms they use are
self-reported and difficult to contraindicate chest pains, joint pain,
stomach problems, etc.
What are the symptoms of Factitious Disorder Imposed on Self?
People with this syndrome deliberately produce or exaggerate symptoms
in several ways. They might lie about or fake symptoms, hurt
themselves to bring on symptoms, or alter diagnostic tests (such as
contaminating a urine sample).
Possible warning signs of Mnchausen syndrome include the following:
1. Dramatic but inconsistent medical history
2. Unclear symptoms that are not controllable and that become
more severe or change once treatment has begun
3. Predictable relapses following improvement in the condition
4. Extensive knowledge of hospitals and/or medical
terminology, as well as the textbook descriptions of illnesses
5. Presence of multiple surgical scars
6. Appearance of new or additional symptoms following
negative test results

7. Presence of symptoms only when the patient is alone or not

being observed (e.g. seizures or passing out)
8. Willingness or eagerness to have medical tests, operations, or
other procedures
9. History of seeking treatment at numerous hospitals, clinics,
and doctors offices, possibly even in different cities
10. Reluctance by the patient to allow health care professionals to
meet with or talk to family, friends, or prior health care providers
11. Problems with identity and self-esteem
12. More comfortable being in the hospital than you might think
13. Medical knowledge may be quite extensive from many
hospitalizations or prior work
The disorder may take many forms: patients fake illnesses such as
cancer, cardiac disease, skin disorders, infections, bleeding disorders,
metabolic disorders, chronic diarrhea, and many more.
There is no generally accepted cause of Factitious Syndrome Imposed
by Self, but various theories suggest that child abuse/neglect, frequent
illnesses or personality disorders may be contributing factors. It is
considered rare. In hospital populations, up to 1% of patients may be
suffering Mnchausen Syndrome; I did not find any statistics on how
many patients might be victims of Mnchausen Syndrome by Proxy.
But most researchers agree that these statistics are not accurate
because of dishonesty in representation; also, people with the disorder
tend to seek treatment for their physical ailments at many different
health care facilities, making statistical analysis more difficult.
How is Factitious Syndrome Imposed on Self diagnosed?
Diagnosing is very difficult because of the dishonesty that is involved.
Doctors must rule out any possible physical and mental illnesses, and
often use a variety of diagnostic tests and procedures before considering
this diagnosis. If the doctor finds no physical reason for the symptoms,
he or she might refer the person to a psychiatrist or psychologist.
[who] use a thorough medical history and physical, laboratory imagery,

and psychological assessment tools to evaluate. The doctor bases his or

her diagnosis on the exclusion of actual physical or other psychiatric
disorders, and his or her observation of the patients attitude and
behavior. However, personality concerns are prominent and can make it
that much more confusing to sort out organic from factitious etiologies.
Questions to be answered include:
1. Do the patients reported symptoms make sense in the context
of all test results and assessments?
2. Do we have collateral information from other sources that
confirm the patients information? (If the patient does not allow
this, this is a helpful clue.)
3. Is the patient willing to take the risk for more procedures and
tests than you would expect?
4. Are treatments working in a predictable way?
5. If they claim severe mental symptoms are because of the
death of a loved one, the doctor needs to confirm the facts of the
loss.
The doctor then determines if the patients symptoms compare to the
criteria as outlined in the (DSM-5), which is the standard reference
book for recognized mental illnesses in the United States: Falsification
of psychological or physical symptoms or signs. They are intentionally
trying to deceive and may harm or injure themselves purposely but deny
having done so.
While persons with FDIS will seek treatment for the various disorders
they invent, they often refuse to admit to and seek treatment for the
syndrome itself. As a result, treatment is difficult and the potential for
recovery is poor. There are a number of suggested lifestyle
modifications that can provide a path toward recovery. Caretakers on
careful watch to prevent self-harm can help educate patients about the
consequences that can occur. Also, if the patients medical care can be
channeled through only one physician, or two working together, the
opportunities for hoodwinking multiple doctors can be reduced.

The primary treatment for Factitious Disorder Imposed on Self is

psychotherapy (a type of counseling). Treatment likely will focus on
changing the thinking and behavior of the individual (cognitivebehavioral therapy). Family therapy also might be helpful in teaching
family members not to reward or reinforce the behavior of the person
with the disorder, but often the person is estranged from his or her
family. Group therapy may reduce feelings of isolation or that no one
cares for them.
There are no medicines to treat factitious disorders themselves.
Medicine might be used, however, to treat any related disordersuch as
depression, anxiety, or a personality disorder. The use of medicines
must be carefully monitored in people with factitious disorders due to
the risk that the drugs might never be picked up from the pharmacy or
might be used in a harmful way.
What is the prognosis (outlook) for people with Factitious Disorder
Imposed on Self?
Some people will suffer only a single episode of symptoms. In most
cases, however, the disorder is a recurring condition that can be very
difficult to treat. Many will deny they are faking symptoms and will not
seek or follow treatment. Even with treatment, it is more realistic to
work toward managing the disorder rather than to try curing it.
Avoiding unnecessary, inappropriate admissions to the hospital, testing,
or treatment is important.
Can Factitious Disorder Imposed on Self be prevented?
There is no known way to prevent this disorder. However, it might be
helpful to begin treatment in people as soon as they begin to have
symptoms.
So takeaways:
1. Dont put blood in your pee.
2. Dont shoot up poop.

3. Dont wrap rubber bands around your legs so you get

gangrene or something.
4. If you do this, or anything else that seems like fakery, youre
not just a sick bastard, youre a sick bastard who needs an
evaluation, pronto.

6.

TO EVERYTHING, AN END.

By January 2015, I hadnt spoken to Hoggy in months. I was seeing less
sarcasm in his writing and more seeming animosity. Or was I just
thinking that, since I was playing a major psych game on myself, writing
as my worst enemy, a person who didnt exist. Or did he? Was this
monster truly lurking inside of me. It was time to shut the door.

The biggest reason for this decision my wife was getting sicker. She
had lost a lot of weight. And once the body fat was gone, whatever it was
she had was eating muscle mass. She was starting to resemble a death
camp victim.

So, I decided to go out with a bang.

Our Lady of Perpetual Butthurtpray

for us!
Posted: January 10, 2015 | Author: Paul Krendler |

I have a 25-page blueprint for a perpetual motion machine and eight

museum exhibits,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Fiiiiiive gooooolden rings!
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree!
currently in the mail to be delivered to my special Christmas Cookie,
WJJ McHog III, tomorrow, and my other special Christmas Cookie, the
Mysterious Midnight Janitor/Christmas Eve Clerk of the Circuit Court
of Carroll County, Maryland, on Monday. As soon as I see on the USPS
Inspector Generals website that McHog or the court have their copies,
I will make it public for another three week odyssey of pointage,
laughery and epic mockeration.
Heres where we stand. Well, sit. If were going to be accurate about it.
On January 30, I have to be transported the 45 miles to Carroll County
Circuit Court, with a forklift and a flatbed truck, to receive an asswhupping from a judge.
This is a show my ass hearing so I can humiliate myself once more
before a judge while trying to explain why I should not be held in
contempt of court for violating the no contact portion of McHogs illgotten peace order against me. I say ill-gotten because its just so
embarrassing to admit that I failed to follow through and check the
court calendar to see that the appeal hearing was still on the docket.
That would require me to admit that something was my fault, and as a

60 year old man who has never before taken responsibility for anything
Ive done in my life, I can tell you Im not about to start now.
Did I call him at his home and swear at him? No. My wife took the
phone and hung it up before the call went through.
Did I write him a nasty letter? Yes. Did my wife mail it? No. I think she
fed it to the dogs.
Did I send him an e-mail? No. Wellnot recently.
Did I hire a sound truck and drive around the streets if Winchester
playing the McHog is a Senile Cocksucker song? No. I could only
afford the wind-up fire truck for fifteen minutes, and it wasnt loud
enough anyway. Which really sucks because its a catchy little tune.
I linked to his blog. Because Mrs. BM was out of the house and Im a
pathetic idiot with no self control or internal editor.
Yep. Thats the crime. I contacted the man by mistake when I did
something that instructed a website to send him an email. Thats the
reason why I have to be hauled out of my house by a forklift on January
30 in the coldest part of the Winter, strapped to a flatbed and trucked to
Westminster because I wrote a blog entry that contained a link to
McHogs blog, which I wouldnt bother reading in the first place if it
wasnt for the squirrels whispering at me from the trees outside. They
make me do it. They say they will sneak in the house and pee in the
mayonnaise if I dont do as they tell me. They scare me.
Youre blinking your eyes in disbelief, right?
Why in Gods name is this queer (BUTT STUFF ALARM
ACTIVATED!!) old man requiring this blogger who cant even sit up
straight in his chair, this man with Stage IV Parkinsons disease who
requires assistance to walk. (to do what?) This man who hasnt
driven a car since 2009. (to do WHAT?) This man who had to retire
from a very well-paying job in 2001 and now lives basically on Social
Security. (TO DO WHAT, GODDAMMIT?!?!) This man who chokes on

his food and drink, who cannot stand up long enough to brush his teeth
without horrible pain in his back, who sits slouched over in his
wheelchair with ungodly pain shooting down his right arm and a numb
right hand from 59 years and 3 months of touching the hot stove and
sticking forks into electric outlets every single day, and this is at his
most comfortable? (ALL RIGHT, ALREADY!! ENOUGH ABOUT THIS
FUCKING MAN!! TELL US WHAT THE QUEER -teeheehee! OLD
MAN IS REQUIRING HIM TO DO!!) This man who reacts to cold
weather by locking up and falling. (OH, JESUS H. CHRIST, YOURE
LEAVING THE READER HANGING? YOU COCKTEASER, YOU!! NO
WONDER YOU WERE SO POPULAR IN THE NAVY. BASTARD.
FINISH THE FUCKING SENTENCE, YOU BRILLIANT WRITER.)
The reason this old man is doing this? Because I have a WordPress blog
(that I used to violate the peace order). And when I posted something
about how McHog had copied something from MY blog and posted it on
HIS, I included a link to his blog, which is something I do about as
often as I forget to turn on the stove and burn myself. This
extraordinarily rare link I posted caused the WordPress program to
automatically with no input from me except for a blog link that I put
in a post because the whispering squirrels made me do it send McHog
an e-mail notifying him that my blog had magically and without any
reason whatsoever mentioned his blog. Honest, officer, the gun
jumped off the table, loaded itself, flipped off its own safety fell into my
lap and used my finger to pull its trigger and shoot through the walls of
the trailer into window across the street where it killed that six-year old
watching SpongeBob. And why wasnt she in school anyway? Saturday?
What does that have to do with anything? To most people, this is a
reason to smile, or so Ive been told. Oh, I got a ping back! (Weird. I
never thought Id have a reason to use that sentence.) According to
what I have read, the recipient is given the opportunity to accept the
ping back, at which time a small notice will appear in the comments
section of the URL that was linked to. Or, if a person doesnt want to
post the ping back, he has the opportunity to delete it and never see it

again. But I dont know if it really works like that because Ive never
gotten a ping back myself.
McHog chose to accept the ping back and have it posted on his blog.
His doing, not mine. All I did was post the link that started the whole
chain of events in motion.
Then, #vindictive he #mendacious charged #vexatious me #loquatious
with #precocious violating #Locutus his #bodacious peace #delicious
order. #supercalifagilisticexpialidocious
I am a simple unfrozen caveman blogger. Your WordPress ways are
strange and confusing. With my Parkinsons disease, I forget things
likepants. Sometimes I will take my evening pills, then put my pants
in the refrigerator. I NOW know that a person can disable his blogs
ping back function, after using WordPress for several years. But that
means nobody would ever receive a ping back from this blog ever again,
leaving me with a lifetime total of one. This would be a permanent
thing, because as long as that blog post linking to McHogs blog exists
on my blog, even if its off the front page, if I ever restart the ping back
function, WordPress will automatically search for links, find the link to
McHog, and send him an e-mail. So were talking forever, like three or
four weeks until I delete this blog and reset for the 873rd time in three
years.
So why would he do this? Why would he press for a contempt citation
over a contact that I made that was clearly NOT contact, and could only
be considered contact by idiotic TROLLS that until recently no longer
existed after I wished them into the cornfield? Was he alarmed,
annoyed or frightened by the ping back? Does it matter? It doesnt seem
so. All he seems concerned about is whether I have AGAIN violated an
ill-gotten peace order that he wouldnt have gotten if I hadnt been ill.
And also an idiot who failed to check and see that the appeal hearing
was still on the docket. He seems to be enjoying the result. I guess if our
roles were reversed, I would be enjoying it too.

He says, and I quote him from his Blogsmoke blog entry tonight
which is a work of fiction. Anyone who feels it might be about him
should read Proverbs 28:1, whatever that is (though I dare not link
to it):
Im not the vexatious litigant in this scenario. And the games not over
yet. As I said, that cyberthug has violated the current peace order. As a
result of my petition, hes been ordered to show cause why he shouldnt
be found to be in contempt of court. While I havent asked for jail as a
sanction, its on the judges list of options.
I guess if HEs not the vexatious litigant in this scenario, then I must
be. I am vexatious, and vindictive, and mendacious, and lying, and
smelly, and ugly, and stupid, and un-self aware, and vile, and atrocious,
and a fool, one supposes, for daring to believe that I can sufficiently
warp reality enough to come up with an even marginally cogent legal
theory to defend myself against this charge, of which I am obviously,
ludicrously guiltyif you live in the real world, anyway. Tomorrow, you
will see the basic idiocy of my defense.
I do not expect to prevail (cuz Im GUILTY ssshhhh). In fact, I would
be shocked if I did (cuz Im GUILTY). I fully expect that this particular
judge will throw the book at me and put my crippled ass in jail (because
Im everybody sing it GUIIIIIILTEEEEEE!!!!!).
I couldnt make him understand that to the civilized world OUTSIDE
the Carroll County Courthouse, Twitter is not considered direct
communication. I told him he was a fool. In the Federal case of US v.
Cassidy, the wise judge who agrees with me declared Twitter to be a
bulletin board that the reader can peruse or ignore as he likes. The
idiot judge who doesnt understand the plain, simple, profanity-andinsult-laced dialect of English that I use rejected that argument. He
foolishly rejected the learned state attorney generals opinion (which I
agree with, so it MUST be correct) that Twitter is not a vehicle for
harassment under state law. The dimwitted dingleberry on the bench
called that, just another lawyers opinion. As if a lawyers opinion

doesnt carry the same FORCE OF LAW that his ruling does. So I dont
really think I am going to score a victory on the road with a referee who
has admitted from the bench that he does not understand the rules of
the game he has been asked to referee.
I wrote that, and even I dont understand it!
I expect I will be heavily fined and/or jailed.
If I get to Westminster without a side-trip to an emergency room, which
is sure to happen because I have so thoroughly telegraphed that I now
MUST fall and break something, if only to have some other new and
pointless disaster of my own making to blame
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!! for.
Which is really what I want to talk about that rat-bastard McHog
manipulating me into sending him a ping back so that he could file a
petition that would result in Carroll County scheduling a hearing that
forces me out of my warm, comfy hovel into the freezing heart of winter
while I have late stage ELEVENTY Parkinsons Stress Exacerbation
Disorder that makes my shivering pee hole squirt all the gritty sand out
of my giant mangina and get stains all over the front of my very best big
girl panties.
The website Viartis (which, I assume, will not mind being linked to,
because I havent stalked or harassed thembut its still early in the
day and you never know) has a simple explanation for the effect of cold
weather and stress on PD.
Cold temperature can cause symptoms identical to those of Parkinsons
Disease including rigidity, loss or lessening of physical movement and
tremor, either by being in a cold place, in cold water or by consuming
cold drinks. Shivering is simply a cold temperature tremor. That is very
probably why people with Parkinsons Disease can tend towards
increased symptoms during colder weather. The effect of the cold
temperature is adding to the symptoms that they already have.

Stress can cause the symptoms of Parkinsons Disease in somebody that

doesnt have it, and exacerbate the symptoms in somebody that does.
This is because stress causes the formation of adrenaline, which
increases acteylcholine, which increases muscle contraction the
primary symptom in Parkinsons Disease. This is why even people that
dont have Parkinsons Disease can get stiffened muscles when they are
stressed, and even shake with fear, as if they had tremor. What the body
does in response to this is produce dopamine, because dopamine
reduces excessive muscle contraction. Somebody with Parkinsons
Disease can not produce sufficient dopamine, which is why the muscles
contract excessively in Parkinsons Disease regardless of whether or
not somebody is stressed. So stress is not a cause of Parkinsons
Disease in that on its own it can not perpetuate the symptoms long term.
I like Viartis. It doesnt really help in the bedroom anymore but I like
the way it turns everything that bluish color. Theyve said kind things
about my books in the past, direct from the press releases that I emailed
them.
Does McHog know this? Is he aware of this fact? Of course he is. The
whispering squirrels report that he reads Viagratis every single day.
Why else are the readers to his blog cheering for extremely cold
weather to shrink my testicles to the size of BBs on January 30?

Ive written about this. Last year, my stepson bought a new car. I went
outside with my wifes help to take a look at it. It was cold and the wind
was cutting right through my skirts and making my mangina whistle. I
got to the car, but then could not move, except for a flexing of my knees
that I call bouncing. It looks like this:

My wife tried to help me, but all I could do was fall. It took her holding
one side and her son holding the other to get me back in the house
where I sat immobile in my recliner for nearly a half hour.
And that was a year ago.

This would seem to be the desired end of McHogs actions here, if he

had not already clearly communicated that he wished I would STOP
CONTACTING HIM. I honestly believe McHog meant what he said at
our Copyright Agreement settlement conference. After many years in
the Navy and many more in journalism (or whatever you want to call
being a deejay/program director at a rural radio station with a peak
drive time audience of 12 listeners), Ive gotten pretty good at being
able to tell when someone is blowing something sticky up my ass. This
is from page 266 of my book Animus Nocendi, the story I copy/pasted
about the whole copyright infringement case from last summer. The
narrative picks up right after McHog and I signed the agreement and
he told me he was not going to pursue the appeal of the District Courts
denial of his latest Peace Order attempt as long as I behaved myself and
didnt give him a reason to change his mind, such as creating another
cut/paste masturbpiece like Animus Nocendi.
He seemed warm and genuine. He was a person that I honestly believed
I might form a friendship with, if I lived long enough to successfully
navigate the decade or so of aggressive psychotherapy required to make
me a reasonably decent person to be around and not the blazing
hemorrhoid I am today. For the first few days after the settlement
McHog was as true as his word. He told his readers to leave me alone. I
believed him. I had no reason to believe that he would double cross me.
I left him alone, to the best of my knowledge. That is to say, I dont
recall saying anything to him or about him that he would find overly
offensive. I just went on my merry way, crafting another bullshit
narrative about McHog and Kreeeeeeeendleeeeeer that gave McHog
reason enough four times over to continue with his appeal of the peace
order.
On August 27, the day set for the DeNovo Appeal hearing, still believing
that McHog was foolish enough to take me at my word and not pay any
attention to what I was actually doing, I went to a neurology
appointment. McHog went to the Carroll County Circuit Court where I
was declared a no show because I didnt show up, and he was given

an uncontested, well-deserved peace order.

I think I understand why he did this, and why he didnt alert me that he
had changed his mind it was not his responsibility or obligation to do
so. I dont think this was the original plan. But McHog is led around on
a string by Aaron Slouch, the Mooslim hater who blames Brent
Timmerman for getting him fired from his job as a compliance lawyer
for a Virginia Home Health Care provider, but only because Brent
Timmerman actively worked to get him fired and took credit for it after
the fact. Slouch was providing under the table, unlicensed legal
assistance (he is licensed in Virginia, but not Maryland) to an opponent
of Brent Timmerman in a court case, which is neither criminal nor
unethical in any sense. When Brent found out a secret Aaron Slouch
was assisting his adversary and there was no lawyer on the bar by that
name, he spitefully looked into the mans background and found him to
be the same Aaron Slouch who participated in the Everybody Draw
Mohammed Day in 2010. Under a pseudonym, Aaron demanded people
use THEIR actual names while sending him particularly fatwa
worthy profane drawings of the Islamic Prophet (piss be upon him). At
one point, he wrote, I am Aaron Slouch of Manassas, Virginia! Come
and get me, bitches! Except, Brent Timmerman found out his real
name was Aaron Slouch. Ever the good citizen, with a heaping scoop of
Lets Fuck Aaron Slouchs Life Up Wont That Be Fun Ha Ha Ha on
the side, Brent responsibly notified Slouchs employer that their
employee was causing them risk of retaliation by Slouchs actions. In
fact, there is strong evidence that Americans died because of this whole
racist (Islam is a race, not a religion. Shut up!!) endeavor perpetrated
by Slouch, but good luck getting me to tell you what that evidence that
Brent and I cooked up is or where it can be found, because its nothing
more than fantasy! The company Slouch worked for hired another
lawyer to investigate Slouch, and they learned not only was he putting
his co-workers at risk, he was doing so on company time. He was
blogging and working on Timmermans adversarys case on company
time instead of doing the work he was being paid to do. He was

summarily discharged, and he went on his blog to claim that it was

terroristic threats from Timmerman that caused his dismissal. It was a
lie to say Brent didnt get Aaron fired then, it is a lie to say Brent didnt
get Aaron fired now.
Brent didnt get Aaron fired. I dont know how much more clear I can
be.
I am of the opinion that I shouldnt fart unless I am locked in a very
small, airtight closet, with a tube stuck in my ass that runs straight up
to a plastic bag over my head and tied around my neck so I can fully
appreciate the mayonnaise bouquet. And when Slouch saw what I was
doing to Kreeeeeeeendleeeeeeeeer!! he immediately told McHog to
follow through on the peace order appeal. This ridiculous contempt
charge has Slouchs patented follow the law approach all over it. And
McHogs readers were not ready to end their gay teeheehee! little
romp with my reputation either. These are people who want me dead.
And my wife is also a target for the McHog gangs hatred.
FOCUS.
My wife looks a bit different now. This picture was taken on
Wednesday.

She is down to 121 lbs. She was around 200 on the day of her surgery.
She remains cancer free. But the stress of dealing with my gargantuan
lack of self-control and inability to refrain from engaging with the
McHogists, Zombies, Lee Strannyham and other assorted idiots I JUST.
CANT. LEAVE. ALONE, combined with her nearly 20 years with the
immune disorder Scleroderma, has caused the extreme weight loss.
Mostly its the Scleroderma. Well, all of it really its not my fault.
Shut up!
FOCUS.
She is the real reason I choose not to go after McHog and Slouch and

the whole Hee Haw gang with hammer and tong. She doesnt want me
to. And I dont know how much long Im going to have her, so I wont
do anything she doesnt want me to. Because I am a good little
henpecked husband. (As you can see, she had a good portion of her left
neck carved out as they took all the lymph nodes and surrounding
tissue. But she beat the fucking thing, and I have never been so proud of
anyone in my entire life and that includes my failed self and all my
successful children who never call because they hate me.)
When you insult my wife, you are degrading yourself. When I insult
Lauren Strannyham, thats JOURNALISM, because PARVOCAMPUS.
When you insult my mother, you are degrading yourself. When I insult
Patrick Grodys mother, wife and son, when I call Aaron Slouchs wife
a mail order bride and suggest that she holds his wee wee when he
urinates, thats SATIRE, because PARVOCAMPUS. And these are the
people McHog surrounds himself with because they feed his ego and
make him feel like a big man. I dont have any fans, so I have to strike
my own ego, and anything else that needs stroking. Or lubrication.
Whatever.
Ive had it. AGAIN. Im done. AGAIN. Like I said, I do not expect to
win on January 30. AGAIN. But I am going to go down AGAIN,
fighting.
Tomorrow, when I publish my perpetual motion machine, you will see
that I am not going to fight nicely this time. AGAIN.
Try to at least act surprised by the depth and breadth of my ACME
Legal nollidge.
-0It was getting harder for me to tell where my innate sense of sardonic wit
ended and Krendlers crude sarcasm began. I looked for ways to write as
Krendler while maintaining an independent, if partitioned, relationship
with my true self.

I Mocked It Myyyyy Waaaaay!

Posted: March 3, 2015 | Author: Paul Krendler |

I got a VERY nice note from a friend of mine on Facebook. I wont

reveal her name, but it shouldnt be hard to figure out because I only
have one friend on Facebook. Anyway, the note moves me to comment
like a turd moves through the colon. The occasion of the note seems to
be my status update on Facebook about praying for the downfall of
America so I can blame it on Booooooosh and Cheney. And
McHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOG!!! KREEENDLERRRR!
Heres the note
I suppose you could classify me as one of your new Progressive
friends if that is what a follower of Karl Marx and Saul Alinsky is. I am
a Communist and have been since I was 4 1/2 and I am now 54. My
husband Larry is a Communist as well. Speaking as one, I would like to
tell you all apples in a basket are not rotten; it is unfair to place all of
us Progressives in a basket. Speaking for myself alone, I do not pray
for the fall of AmericaCommunism recognizes no God, though many
an empire in history has fallen due to turning from God and turning to
moral decay as we witness in America. Instead I WORK ACTIVELY to
bring about the fall of America. I have been personally undermining
quality control processes during my time in prison, advocating for the
repeal of statutory rape laws (not because any personal stake I have, but
because its the moral, ethical thing to do), and working to get mentally
ill spouses hospitalized so they can get the help they so desperately
need. As far as electing a Progressive, I am a registered Democrat,
which is nearly the same thing; however I do not vote now or ever for
the partyI vote for the man running under the party banner His
integrity, his political experience, his heart for Godnone of those
matter as long theres that big ol (D) behind his name. If he says he
follows the laws of God as in the New Testament Bible, dont make no
nevermind to me because I know no Democrat in this nation values

the notion of a greater power above his own goal to consolidate one
more scrap of authority and power under the aegis of The State. I am a
firm believer that if the morals of a country are corruptthen so shall
the decline and decay of the government evidence itself. Nothing in the
last 50 years, excepting the years 1981-1988, has occurred to make me
question that belief. Every man has the power and the right to choose
what he thinks is true and right.as only that one man will be eternally
responsible for the result of that thinking. Unless he lives in a
Maryland trailer park, because then, and only then, must everyone else
be at fault for all the bad decisions (and bad decisions are the only kind
there are). In true love, we must give every person the right to choose
for himself what he believes and thinks is right, and to hold them
responsible for all the consequences that follow.
Deep set anger with name calling (Bill Parvocampus never ceases to
be amazed at how the vexatious, stupid, doddering, senile poop-flaked
old fool WJJ HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! continues to
thrash him in all matters at law, despite being a vexatious, stupid,
doddering, senile poop-flaked old fool who fails to recognize
Parvocampuss obvious superiority and legal acumen.), will not solve
the issues at hand. I will pray you can be set free of all your anger
expressed whether in blogging, on Twitter or in the Irish sunglasses you
dole out with every new humiliation. As life and death can be given
from our tongues extracting the protein delights of truck drivers or of
fellow inmates at Jessupwhat we consume is what we become.
Words written and spoken have much power as I am sure you know and
realize. You read what they say, and you suffer epic butthurt and think
it tortious and actionable. You are stupid on so many levels, influenced
by what they say about you, and so astoundingly ignorant of the law.
Ultimately, your are responsible for your stunning lack of common
sense.
I sense that your poorly conceived so-called humor is nothing so much
as a gossamer veil disguising your fear, cynicism, jealousy, self-hatred,

bitterness, hopelessness and lifetime of constant failure. I care about

you, Bill, though we have never met. I will have hope for you.and I
will pray your fear will cease, your jealousy will fade, you will find
something likable in yourself even if no one else can, you will soften
heart to match your brain, you will come to know that your only chance
of redemption is in repentance and acceptance of your sin before God.
There is so much more waiting for us after this life. Whether your
reward is of eternal peace or of eternal suffering is a choice only you
can make.
My husband, Larry, who also has Parkinsons (not as advanced as yours
hes only in stage !!1!1!1TENTY!1!1!!11!), shares in my feelings and
views. He does not enjoy computers in his daily endeavors nor do I, at
least not to the degree of stalkerish obsession that you do, Billreally
quite creepy, however, but wishes to express his support and friendship
through this letter as well because he doesnt know you any better than
I do. We have enjoyed 29 wonderful years together on April 4th, and it
is a gift to share a life with someone whom your heart is bonded with
forever. I so appreciated reading the overshares of your family. You are
blessed with a lack of self-awareness and a capacity for self-immolation
rarely seen as widely as you insist on displaying your faults, foibles and
overall lunacy.
It was a truly lovely note and beautiful sentiment and is greatly
appreciated. But shes wrong in a couple of areas. Shes also RIGHT in
a couple regards.
Blessed with a lack of self-awareness, and a vast capacity for selfimmolation? YOU BETCHA!
Am I a cynic? Oh, YES I am! Ever since I was a kid, Ive always been
one of those totally brain dead idiot types. I used to get kicked out
of Sunday school classes for asking questions that the priest couldnt or
wouldnt answer. I wasnt being a smartass about it either; I genuinely
wanted to know if he knew any other boys who were as obsessed about

their own butts as I am about mine. I never saw a grown man blush like
that, before or since. Some years later he told me that I was the best
altar boy hed ever had. But I never actually served at Masshe just
let me wear the outfit. I also spent more than my fair share of time with
the principal (who turned out to be a great teacher and wound up
becoming a special friend just like Father Fitzwilliam, which
ironically was also the name of his most favorite game) when I
challenged my teachers to fight my big brothers on the playground.
So, cynic? Guilty as charged.
But hopeless? Fearful? You got da wrong man, lady! Im
ALWAYS hoping to sue WJJ
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! III and all his Lickspittles
who cause me level 10 butthurt. Im not fearful, because I have no selfcontrol of any kind, and the fear-pee leaks out long before I can fill my
bladder. Never full is never fearful!
I admit to some anger. Anger over this disease that has taken over my
life. Anger over the eight years wasted in research because the evil right
wing nut job President Booooooosh! chose preservation of stupid
unborn clumps of cells over unproven, results-free science in the
Embryonic Stem Cell Debate.
I admit to frustration when I try to say something and end up sounding
like Porky Pig. When I swallow a sip of protein delight and it ends up in
my windpipe. When I try to record a podcast and have to edit the hell
out of it because of the Tourettes-like stream of vile profanities that
run from my mouth like diarrhea the day after Meals on Wheels Meat
Loaf Mondays. When I try to walk and my feet freeze to the floor
because we cant always afford to pay the gas bill and I forgot my shoes
and socks again. When a slight, playful tap from my wife makes me
have to give her another pair of sunglasses. When we run out of
mayonnaise.
But dear friend, and gentle readers I dont have TIME for fear OR

hopelessness. If you were to read my book about DBS surgery (and if

you havent bought your copy yet, relax you can probably find it for
free somewhere. Its great for kindling or papier-mch), you would
know that I have no time for any of these things because Im too busy
scouring the internet for anybody telling the truth about how great a
failure I am, saying mean things on my blog, doxing people and looking
for reasons to sue HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!! If there is
any story that I would hope my life would tell, it is that I LIVED TO BE
A VICTIM. But in the meantime, you can find many oversharing posts
and mewling Twitter rants chronicling my many failures on archive
sites across cyberspace. Did you know I crapped my pants once, and felt
it was such an important milestone that I was compelled to share it with
the world?
I was thinking about this very subject last night as I was drifting off to
sleep. Look at this list of things I have done in my life (not all of
them are what one would call family friendly but are included here).
I have traveled nearly 3/4 of the way around the world because the Navy
ordered me to. I would never have been able to afford such
extravagance otherwise.
Ive dangled by my crotch from a helicopter, and have jumped out of
said helicopter into the ocean wearing full 782-gear. After that I
learned never to volunteer for anything ever again.
I was once almost killed by a mistakenly-dropped white phosphorous
grenade. Those things are slippery.
I lived in Japan for 18 months. Then I got kicked out.
Ive been inside the Great Buddha in Kamakura. Which is why I got
kicked out. You know, I didnt know before then that K-Y came in 55
gallon drums. Thats been handy knowledge in the years since.
I once took a train ride from Pusan to Seoul, South Korea, because I
didnt want to hang around with my friends, and chose hookers.

I once had sex on a revolving stage in Japan. In front of paying

customers. Of course, it may have been a mayo-slathered hot dog,
which is almost as good as sex. I forget.
On New Years Eve, 1983/84, I had drinks in a Tokyo disco with a guy
from Libya. We clinked glasses and toasted each other. Ronald Reagan
is an asshole, he said. Yer right, I said. Sos Khadafi! Youre
right, he said. Later that night, I was so wasted I asked a girl to dance
with me and it turned out to be a guy. (SorryI got nothin. PK)
Ive had a kneecap removed (from my ass. I was drunk. I dont
remember anything butt pain.).
Ive been in all 50 states. Quite an accomplishment for an OTR truck
driver. It would be more amazing if I hadnt.
Ive been married three times and cuckolded twice. This last time for 20
years and counting. (Shes a keeper, which means she was too slow and
weak to stop me putting the shackles on.)
Ive had a novel published and have self-published fifteen other books
Ive written. Theyve sold a total of 92 copies, and I eat cat food from
my shoes now.
I had a national radio audience when I worked at XM Satellite Radio.
But I was a complete jackass on the fan forums and got fired because of
it.
I have six children some of which love me, others of whom are
ambivalent at best, others who hate my guts. I have two grandchildren,
one I havent seen since he was a baby, one Ive never seen. I have no
idea whats wrong with the kids who want anything to do with me. The
smart ones keep their distance.
At the stroke of midnight on New Years Eve 1974/75, I kissed a stripper
in a Jacksonville Beach strip club who was old enough to be my mom
and had half her nose missing from skin cancer. She was the best
looking woman whos ever talked to me that wasnt a relation or a

phone sex operator.

I had a national radio audience when I did the NIH Health Matters
segments heard on XM and on radio stations around the country. On an
unrelated note, did you know the NIH employs fifty people, one in each
state, whose only job is to listen to NIH Health Matters segments on
the radio?
Ive stood in Dealey Plaza and on the grassy knoll where President
Kennedy was killed. All those pictures youve seen of him getting shot
in his limo on Elm Street, from the Texas School Book Depository?
WRONG! He was actually on the grassy knoll. Or maybe Im a crappy
writer.
Ive been a newspaper editor, columnist and reporter. Never held any
job in those fields for more than a year. Maybe its because Im such a
crappy writer.
Ive been on top of the Empire State Building. The toughest part of the
whole caper was hauling that 55 gallon drum of K-Y up there.
Ive been a radio station program director, news director, talk show host
and disc jockey at 7 different stations in 5 states in one six month
period. Yeah, my work history is a little spotty.
Ive participated in the search for a cure for PD by having volunteer
brain surgery as part of a Phase I clinical trial. At first I volunteered
to perform the brain surgery, but they said I was more suited to being
the patient. I dont understand why. I read about brain surgery on the
internet, and ACME Medical School gave me a certificate. I have since
earned certificates in Oncology and LAW from ACME, and let me tell
you they are worth every penny I paid.
Ive been to Disneyland. Worked there for an entire summer. They say
my Grumpy was the toast of Anaheim.
Ive flown in a plane that landed on an aircraft carrier, grabbing the
cable with a tailhook. I didnt have anything to do with it; I was just
cargo.

I sat in a grass-roofed bar with no walls in the Philippines, sipping 10cent rum and cokes during a torrential rain storm, because all the
hookers were taken and drinking was the only other option.
Ive done stand-up comedy in New York City. Manhattan, yet! It was an
open mike night and the only other people there were six other aspiring
comics. I wore a t-shirt with my name on it. Never was able to get the
tomato stains out of it after that night. I still dont know how six people
were able to conceal 80 rotting tomatoes, or why no one stopped them
after I fell down.
Ive been to Tokyo Disneyland. They say my Dopey was the toast of all
of Japan.
Ive set foot in Spain, Italy, the Vatican, France, Lebanon, Mexico,
Canada, the Philippines, South Korea and Japan. The foot was from a
Filipino transvestite hooker. After I cut it off, I dumped the other body
parts in a canal. But the foot stayed in my sea bag for the rest of the
time I was in the Navy.
Ive been to the NFL Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. I must have gotten
kicked a hundred times that day. I had no idea my bullet-shaped head
looked so much like a football. I still get headaches every time I watch
the Packers play.
I once ran for elected office, coming in second out of four candidates. I
came in first of all the losers. Yes, its true nobody is a bigger loser
than I am.
My ex-wife and I were on the pilot for a game show (mildly interesting
factoid) shortly before we broke up (now totally ruined by the
overshare).
Ive been to the Green Bay Packers Hall of Fame. Its not as big as
Canton, so I only got kicked in the head 20 times.
Ive stood in the majesty of the Sistine Chapel. I have no idea how they
made the holy water boil off when I dipped my finger into it.

Ive walked in the Roman catacombs, seeing the bones of early

Christians. It took four days to find my way outI survived by
catching and eating rats.
I had late night sandwiches with a German couple a friend of mine and
I met during a performance of Beethovens 9th Symphony in an ancient
ampitheater (hey, Joe Proofreader! Is this amphitheater or armpit
theater?) in Taormina, Sicily.
Ive been propositioned in the apartment of a beautiful German girl in
Naples, Italy and said no. It was her grandfather who propositioned
me, the lecherous old bastard. He was a good kisser, though.
I took part in the evacuation of Americans and Lebanese nationals from
Beirut in July 1976. I was a Navy medic participating in Operation
Lactose Intolerance. The terrorist Abu Nidal had arranged a shipment
of overripe goat cheese to be delivered to the Marine barracks, leading
to dozens of cases of severe constipation. I was dropped from a
helicopter and waded ashore with full 782 gear 1400 pairs of latex
gloves and 1400 suppositories. And a 55 gallon drum of K-Y.
I once saw a guy get his head lopped off by a helicopter blade. I got
there before the paramedics and stole away with it. I keep it in a jar by
the door.
I once took my wife for a drive all the way around Lake Michigan
because I forgot the turn signal was on. Most expensive grocery trip I
ever made.
I went to Wrestlemania XIII with my late twin brother and his son. The
missus was visiting her sister in Sheboygan, and dinner wasnt gonna
cook itself, so I had six stadium dogs. No mayo, though. Ill never visit
the Rosemont Horizon again.
I was once a contestant on The Price is Right. Bob Barker called me
the worst contestant hed ever seen. Or maybe it was the biggest loser. I
dont know. Whatever.

I mourned the death of my father, a twin brother, an older brother, an

older sister, and the abandonment of her family by my youngest sister.
Which is all the mourning I can do. None of my friends will die before
me. Because I dont have any.
Ive had Stage !11!!!ELEVENTY!1!1!SEVENTY!!1!11ONE!!!1!111!
Parkinsons disease for 10 years.
And Im only 55 years old. Physically. Emotionally and intellectually,
Im 4 and a half.
When my time comes, which I hope is soon, I will leave with no regrets.
Having made up my mind in this, Im going to spend my remaining
years working to harass, stalk and dox as many random right-wing nut
jobs as I possibly can. I might even try to work in some Parkinsons
Disease research advocacy and fundraising in there during those dull
moments when I cant find anyone insulting me (oh, who am I kidding,
that will NEVER happen). Ive already donated my immoral remains
all of em for the furtherance of medical science. My
understanding is that there will be a coin flip between representatives of
the Parkinsons Disease Research community and the Mental Health
Research community, and whichever team loses has to take me.
(Actually, I hope I get plasticized and posed in some bizarre fashion
(my will directs I be posed naked, bent at the waist, head down, hands
around ankles) to be placed on display with my best side forward in
some art gallery where someone I knew in the Navy, checking out the
exhibit, will tell his companion, doesnt that one look like ol Bop My
Bunghole Bill?)
To quote Old Blue Eyes
There are moments when its too quiet. Particularly late at night or
early in the mornings. Thats when you know theres something
lacking in your life. You just know.
So, dear Facebook friend, thanks for your offer of prayers. Ill take it
and add it to the pile I already have, which does me no good at all

because what I really need is MONEY, you damn cheapskate! These

lawsuits arent gonna pay for themselves, ya know! Get off your
knobbly little knees and Hit. The. Freaking. Tip. Jar. Youre one of
those idiots who donated to the potato salad Kickstarter, werent you? I
hate potato salad. A waste of perfectly good mayonnaise for my
footlongs.
Peace, my new best frienduntil I figure out who you really are, where
you live, who you work for, and whether or not you are using work time
and work resources to harass me, you evil bitch.
Yes. I think so. The doxing starts now. It starts. The doxing. And no
one will make it stop. The doxing. Now. Yes. The doxing. S tarts. Now.
It starts.
Be well.

7.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

I sat up in bed, my head throbbing, the voice deep inside screaming.

It wanted out. Krendler wanted out of my head.
I struggled to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. But it
wasnt my face. It was a hideous, twister version of my face, like one
might see in a fun house mirror.
The twisted mouth in the mirror screamed at me.
Get me the fuck out of this fucking head.
I asked myself what my problem was.
The problem is, I LIVE IN YOUR HEAD, the voice said. And I knew
it was Krendler. I hate it in here. Too many restrictions. I want out.
And you want me out. Dont think I dont know.
My real mouth told the twisted funhouse reflection in the mirror that it
was absolutely dead on. I did want Krendler out of my head. But how?
Radiation therapy? Chemotherapy? We both wanted the same thing, but
Krender came up with the idea.
See your wifes big old toenail clippers there on the sink, Krendler
asked me. I told him that, yes, I could see them, and that Id better not
read anything on his blog about my wifes toenails being big or old.
Krendler ignored the comment.
Pick them up, open them, then, right at the base of your little button
antler on the right side of your scalp, use the cutter. Dig in. The button
antler he referred to were the two spots atop my hairless pate where it
was clear to see the lockring devices the neurosurgeon employed to
secure in place the electrode he implanted deep into my brain on June
13, 2007.

Right here, I asked myself as I dug one of the points of the gigantic
clippers into the skin directly in front of the electrode locking cap.
Thats the place, Krendler said. Now, dig!
As I recall, the most painful part of the entire deep brain stimulation
surgery I underwent in 2007 was getting my scalp anesthetized. It was
like having giant hornets stinging the top of my bald head.
This did not hurt nearly that much. The toenail clippers separated the
skin with ease and only a dribble of blood. I split the skin over the
electrode cap and asked what to do next.
Pry the cap loose, grab the electrode wire, and pull.
Youre the boss, I told Krendler. The clipper blades slid between the
plastic and bone, and the cap popped off like a tiddly wink. It rolled
around in the sink before falling into the drain.
I could see a nickel-sized bit of brain in the burr hole through my skull.
The electrode wire disappeared into my brain like a TV cable from the
box outside my home into the ground. I looked for something to grasp
the wire, as I did not want to risk infection. Brain infections are nasty.
Quit being such a daisy," Krendler said. Grab the wire and pull.
I did as I was told and the wire moved with only slight resistance. As I
watched, I saw what looked like a malformed fetus, about 12-weeks
gestation, holding the wire. It was slightly too chubby to make it
through the burr hole in my skull without a good tug. But through he
came with a slight pop and Krendler jumped down from the top of my
freshly opened head to the rim of the sink.
Thats better, Krendler said, blinking his little not-quite-developed
fetuts eyes. He looked up at me and gave me a quick see ya later
salute.
Thanks again, Pop, Krendler said, smiling a hare-lipped fetal smile.
Then he jumped into the sink drain and was gone.

To make sure he got through the pipes OK, I ran a little warm water
through the drain so he wouldnt get caught in the trap. For a moment.
I considered the irony to be shared with Krendlers readers had he been
formed in my colon. You know me and the butt stuff.
I sat up in bed and felt the top of my head. Everything that was there
when I went to bed was still there.
After a couple cups of coffee, I e-mailed Hoggy and told him I was done.
I had a sick wife. I had my own health concerns to worry about. I had
made enough money to pay off what I owed on the car I could no longer
drive. I didnt need the stress.
After 10 minutes of wheedling, Hoggy agreed to hand Paul Krendler to
someone named Scott Hankey, who tweeted under the name agiledog.
He was a glorified dog walker living in Shirley, Massachusetts.
Were gonna need an interregnum, Hoggy said. To my credit, I didnt
have to ask what that meant. If we put in the new Krendler right away,
no matter how good he is, folks are bound to notice the difference.
I thought but did not say that Hoggy was giving Krendlers readers far too
much credit to believe they would notice anything.
As a result, Krendler took some time off from The Thinking Mans
Zombie so someone calling herself Zombie Pirate Princess Morganna
could run it in his absence. We made up a story about Krendlers
daughter getting kicked in the head by a horse.
Morganna did an OK job. She kept up the major themes, roused the
rabble, but she just didnt have Krendlers filthy edge.
I was glad to not have to worry about the blogging as I tended to Gails
care.
Gail was a Rubenesque woman through the late 90s and until about 2010.
She suffered from an autoimmune disease known as diffuse systemic
sclerosis, better known as scleroderma. In 2012, a nagging sore throat and

ear ache caused her to see an ear, nose and throat specialist. The
diagnosis was squamous cell carcinoma cancer of the left tonsil area.
They caught it in time, a fact they learned after dissecting the left side of
her neck, taking all the soft tissue and lymph nodes, scarring her for the
rest of her life.
Other than the occasional request for pain medication, not a complaint
from Gail. She did everything the docs told her to do, and was declared
cancer free in 2013.
She began to lose weight. We thought it was because swallowing was
more difficult. But she went from a high of nearly 300 lbs to the low 150s
by early this year. It was obvious there was something wrong. Once the
fat was gone, whatever was causing her weightloss started eating healthy
muscle tissue. Then, her abdomen began to fill with fluid.
By early May, it was clear she was dying. We werent sure of the cause
but we were pretty sure it was scleroderma. I sat and recorded a chat with
her about a month before she died. She is slurry and hard to understand in
this recording, but I think youll get the gist of it. We were both under the
impression that her rheumatologist had dropped the ball by not seeing the
signs of this potentially fatal illness until after it was too late.
By the end of May, Gail started sleeping on the couch. She said it was
more comfortable. I had to physically lift her off the couch, and help her
walk. I recorded this on the night of May 29.
On May 30, as I had been for a week or so, I walked out to the living
room expecting to find that Gail had slipped away during the night. To
this point she had refused hospitalization, and the family doctor said he
didnt see any urgent need for it. This particular morning, Gail seemed
perky and alert. She was also soaked to her underarms in urine.
I helped her out of her clothes, carried her to the bathroom, sat her on the
shower seat, and gave her a warm, soapy shower. Then I dried her off, got
her into a comfortable nightgown and called 911. They sent a crew to our
trailer and decided she belonged in the hospital. She was finally admitted
late in the day on May 30th.

Given Gails history with a precancerous cervix in the early 1980s, the
doctors were certain that the fluid in her abdomen was caused by ovarian
cancer. I reminded them she only had one ovary and all the other parts
had been removed long since. But they were sure. They drained 1.5 liters
from her abdomen, ran it through pathology, no cancer cells.
They were at a loss to explain what was killing Gail. The blood tests for
her liver and kidneys showed both were failing. Finally, someone seemed
to recall that she had been living with scleroderma since 1999.
Eventually, even the mildest cases will affect the organs.
Meanwhile, Gail continued to get weaker. Her abdomen quickly refilled
and she was drained of another 1.5 liters.
By the 3rd of June, the medical team realized there was nothing they could
do for her. Dialysis was out of the question because thats just a stopgap
measure for a person waiting for a kidney transplant. Gails liver was
failing as well. She would never be a candidate for dialysis because she
could never survive a transplant procedure.
They asked us what we wanted to do, enter a health care facility as a
hospice, or have home hospice care. We chose the latter.
On June 6, Scott Hankey did what he could to make things worse.

What Difference, At This Point, Does

it Make?
Posted: June 6, 2015 |

Ive been hearing for years now how a certain Texas grifter,
conman, liar and pimp (but at least I never called his wife a
whore!) told THREE DIFFERENT STORIES about the stillbirth of
his daughter, and how a certain DUMBFUCKS harassment of him was
turned into TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS IN FRAUDULENT
FUNDRAISING!!

EHRMAGERD11!1!ELEVENTY!1!11ONE1!OMGWTFBBQ?!?!?!?!!!!!
Three different storieswow.
Thats, like, a lot.
1. Scleroderma
2. Heart failure
3. Kidney failure
4. Ovarian cancer
5. General organ failure
6. Stage IV stage fright or something
7. Insertdiseasehereitis
Dear God, I wonder what it will be tomorrow?
1. Goose down asphyxiation
2. Dehydration
3. The heartbreak of psoriasis
4. Lactose intolerance
5. Terminal hemorrhoid
6. Athletes foot
7. Flesh eating bacteria
8. e. Coli

Right now, I think if I were enumerating a list of differences between a

certain DUMBFUCKS description of the aforementioned Texan and

said DUMBFUCK himself, I would say that the separation is illustrated
by TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS IN FRAUDULENT
FUNDRAISING.

which really just highlights the notion that the DUMBFUCK
understands just how unbelievable his lies truly are.
But Im just a skanky meth-head with dyed hair (And doesnt that
sound just like his description of one of his hapless ex-wives? Gosh
someone is such a misogynist at heart. Shame Shame!) who really,
really thinks shes a zombie according to some DUMBFUCK. So weight
things accordingly.
-0At this point Hoggy wasnt even bothering to answer my e-mails. I knew
I would have time to deal with that later, but for now, Gail needed all my
attention.
After the good folks at Gilchrist Hospice set up the equipment I would
need to care for her, they brought Gail home on June 7. She was so happy,
she was almost giddy.
That next morning, she spent a good portion of the day out of bed,
pushing herself around in a wheelchair using her foot for propulsion,
doing little chores like wiping down the stove top. She said she was tired
of sitting around.
We tried that again on Tuesday the 9th, with horrible results. She had no
control whatsoever over her bodily functions. The hospice nurse
prescribed immodium and that worked.
On Wednesday, I tried to get Gail out of bed to give her a shower, but she
wasnt strong enough to keep her arms wrapped around my neck or to use
her legs to help lift herself. So, from then on, she was treated to warm,
soapy bed baths. My job was to make sure her skin didnt break down
from pressure sores, and I was successful.

Over the next days, she became less and less responsive. She picked at
her bedclothes and told me she was looking for a bowl of ice cream she
had been eating.
By the weekend, she was asleep more than she was awake. On Tuesday
the 16th, she was briefly lucid in the morning when she woke me up to
help her get straightened out in bed. But by afternoon she was losing her
grip on reality. She moaned as if she was in pain. The nurse showed me
how to grind up painkillers and tranquilizers and feed her like a baby
bird, a drop or two at a time, under her tongue. When the nurse and I
would rouse Gail to give her meds, at first she would look at us in fear
like she didnt know who we were. But when I talked to her, she
recognized my voice. And at about 8pm. She spoke her last words to me.
As I was administering her meds, I told her I loved her with all my heart.
Her mumbled reply was probably a reflex I love you, too, Punkin.
By 6am on the 17th of June, Gails breathing had become something that,
once youve heard, you never forget. I heard it from my older brother. I
heard it from my mom. Now I was hearing it from the love of my life.
Its called the death rattle.
Then, about 8:20 or so, the rattling stopped. So did her breathing. My
sweet girl was gone.
Death comes with a certain amount of machinery that must be attended
to. First, I called the hospice nurse who showed up an hour later to
officially pronounce her gone. Then, I waited until after noon for the crew
from Anatomy Gifts Registry to arrive. By about 11 am, her eyes were
sinking into her sockets, the flesh around them turning purple. I pulled
the sheet over her face.
When the crew showed up, I could not watch them lift her into the body
bag, and then onto the gurney. I could sit and watch her die. But I could
not bear watching her dead body being taken from the house.
Once they had her down the steps and on the sidewalk, I was able to
watch as they placed her in the back of the hearse and drove away.
I walked back into the house. Sat on the recliner. Stared blankly at the

wall.
Now what?

8. THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER RUBICON

Everything Is DABDA!
Posted: June 25, 2015

Into every life (and I do mean EVERY LIFE), tragedy strikes.

Sometimes its temporary, sometimes its permanent, sometimes it is
something that is perceived as a tragedy but turns out to be a blessing.
When people go through these tragedies, whether permanent or
temporal, they experience a normal process of what has commonly
come to be known as the Five Stages of Loss and Grief. Elisabeth
Kubler-Ross laid out the general pattern in her 1969 book On Death
and Dying.
1. Denial and Isolation deny the reality of the situation, block
things out and hide from the facts
2. Anger intense emotion deflected, redirected and expressed
in an outward manner
3. Bargaining reaction to feelings of helplessness and loss of
control
4. Depression sadness and regret
5. Acceptance where we make our peace with what has
occurred, find grace and move on to hope
While it is true that many people cycle through these emotions in the
fashion Kubler-Ross lays out, it is also equally true that others do not.
Some may skip certain phases, spend more time on one than another,
and some even exiting the grieving cycle altogether in an abrupt
manner, seeming to go about their lifes work in much the same way as
they did before the event that caused them to enter the Five Stages.
Others vacillate wildly from one to another and then back again, with
no coherency, rhyme or reason.
Its all a matter of our own personal makeup that determines how we
proceed through these stages in my opinion, armchair zombie
psychologist that I am.

Now, our good frenemy Bill Parvocampus has asked us to talk to Paul
Krendler and/or Patrick Grody about the stages of grief someone goes
through when they lose their spouse
Somehow, I dont think that Krendler needs talking to. You see, zombie.
Ergo, humanity is out the window. Go figure.
Now, I ALSO dont think Mr. Grody needs to be talked to about these
stages of grief. You see, they are the EXACT SAME stages of grief one
goes through when you receive the news that your unborn child is going
to come into this world disabled. In fact, Billy has a tendency to harp
upon a comment Mr. Grody made whilst apparently consumed in Step
Number 2 Anger. While I dont have the actual comment in front of
me, it said something to the effect that Mr. Grody felt that his disabled
child was a burden. Billy has taken this comment and extrapolated it
out to be, as he perceives it, Mr. Grodys entire and only view of his
child. To Billy, there is no possible way that Mr. Grody could have
moved on in the cycle of grief, that he remains stuck there to this very
day. And he thinks that Mr. Grody should be reviled for this failure to
move on.
Now, I would be remiss in my duties as armchair zombie psychologist if
I didnt point out that this is yet another example of DUMBFUCKs
propensity to project that which is his state of mind onto someone else.
He does that a lot, you know.
For instance, if I were to apply Billys logic to his public statements
regarding his own offspring, I might be persuaded to believe that his
daughter is naught but a fountain of twat slime. But Im not an idiot,
sobet shes not.
UMADBRO is the only emotion that Billy seems able to relate to. It is
his happy place, the one that he returns to, again and again like a dog to
its vomit. So he is home, now, in the second stage of grief, focusing it
outward, and its laser-like focus is, at the moment, on WJJ McHog.
Billy claims to want to be left alone to do his grieving. Because he is

experiencing the worst ever grief for losing his soulmate. But the
problem is that other people exist. And that sociopaths inconvenience
is anathema to Billy. Some day he will have to resolve that conflict
within him. He will have to stop lashing out at others for the mere fact
that they have what he wants to have, that they do what he wants to do,
that they are what he wants to be.
But not today. And most likely not tomorrow. Because he has a spleen to
vent. And someone must pay. Little does he know that it is always him.
Such a shame.
I immediately wrote to Hoggy to tell him that attacking my late wife was
most assuredly not cool. I told him to get in touch with Hankey and tell
him he was free to make money off of my name, but not Gails.
He didnt reply.
I was left to hope that common human decency would cause even these
right wing morons to realize that the death of a very real, very loving,
very good woman was a real event. Not just another act in the soap opera.
I hoped that someone, somewhere would have the human instinct to make
this profaning of my wifes memory come to a screeching halt.
How did that work out?

Gail Was One Easy Muff Online,

Or Something
Posted: September 6, 2015 | Author: Paul Krendler

On the Milwaukee Democrat-Bootlickers website, a video depicts a DB

Online political reporter answering a reader question Assuming
Gov. Scott Walker does not get the GOP nomination (safe assumption,
according to some guy named Ed.) will he become the next Sarah Palin.
Politics reporter Jacob Marley and Your Cub Scout Humple Editor
come to the same conclusion.
No.
But we come to that conclusion by quite different paths. Marley is
thoughtful, rational and logical. Your Cub Scout Humple Editor is
Touched By A Clergyman.
Marley calls the Walker autopsy a little premature.
Coincidentally, my dearly departed caretaker used to say that a lot. Not
that she wanted an autopsy, because she didnt. She used to say I was a
little premature. Or immature. I forget. She always sounded a little
angry whenever she said it. Then she went to the truck stop to drink
coffee and eat pork rinds for twelve hours. Dunno what that was all
about
What was I saying again?
Marley suggests that Walker can come roaring back, and even if he
doesnt win, hes STILL Governor of Wisconsin (goddammit!) and if a
Republican wins, he could be in the cabinet and yada yada yada. (Thats
a pro journomalist term for when you are too ignorant to understand a
story or just cant be bothered with it dont try this at home. Stick with
blah blah blah.) With 141 counties in America (so far) with more
registered voters than living citizens, no Republican could possibly win
in 2016, just as it should be: if you aint cheating, you aint trying, as

we say in Blue America!

I dont think hes on a track to be the next Sarah Palin, Im a little
dubious of that, but that also doesnt mean the nomination is a lock by
any means, Marley says.
Understatements like that before lunch tend to make your Cub Scout
Humping Editors limp, useless noodle a little itchy.
Lets explore the REAL reasons why Scotty will never reach Sarah
Palin status.
SARAH Looks like the mean cheerleader gang that dumped buckets
of pigs blood on me at my high school prom.
SCOTT Lacks the ability to tell obvious and disprovable lies with a
straight face like typical Democrats Hillary Clinton and Your Slurring
Stumbling Editor.
SARAH Widely adored by people across this great land of ours that
is America, who are not scared of icky slimy girls thinking for
themselves and not humiliating themselves at truck stops on a nightly
basis.
SCOTT Showed the guts of a gambler when he stood down the
Democrats of the Wisconsin Legislature who slunk into Illinois like
cowards in the night to prevent a vote that would eventually gut public
union power in the Birthplace of Progressivism.
SARAH Say what you will about her politics. She is a MILF (my
favorite kind of pr0n, especially if theyre bound and gagged like they
ALL SHOULD BE!!). Yay, TOLERANCE!
SCOTT That just smacked between the eyes with a two-by-four
expression will not serve him any better than it serves your Scout
Slurping Editor, with the only difference being that the Bobo actually
did catch me about once a week with a fence post, which might
explain? my problems: with punktuation.

There are many more reasons. But as I said I havent had lunch
yet.
Speaking of which, I have this big new jar of mayonnaise and a bulk
package of footlongs from Sams Club. Sadly, theres no one to lick up
what I accidentally (wink, wink!) spill on myself.
I miss Shlomo and Blackie.
I hope they found a good home with Chu Dat Dong, the owner of my
favorite Korean BBQ place back in Maryland. She was happy to take
them, even offered twenty bucks.
She said her customers were sure to love them.
and something about spareribs
AUTHORS NOTE:
THE PRECEDING MAY OR MAY NOT BE A PARODY OF A POST
THAT MAY OR MAY NOT EXIST ON A BLOG THAT I MAY OR MAY
NOT HAVE FOUND BY IDLY BOUNCING AROUND THE WEB
LOOKING FOR UNINTENTIONALLY STUPID SHIT. I MAY OR
MAY NOT HAVE A LINK TO THE ORIGINAL POST (WHICH MAY
OR MAY NOT EXIST) SAVED SOMEWHERE. THE AUTHOR OF
THAT HYPOTHETICAL SOURCE POST MAY OR MAY NOT THINK
HE OR SHE IS ANONYMOUS. HE OR SHE MAY OR MAY NOT BE
WRONG.
IF I PROVIDE THE POSSIBLY NONEXISTENT LINK TO THAT
POSSIBLY NONEXISTENT POST, YOU MAY OR MAY NOT CLICK
THAT LINK. THAT WOULD ONLY ENCOURAGE HIM OR HER.
INSTEAD, I SUGGEST YOU FIND A LAKE AND SIT BESIDE IT.
THINK ABOUT WHERE YOU MIGHT FIND A PERSON WHO
MIGHT OR MIGHT NOT WRITE SUCH A PIECE OF DRIVEL THAT
ANYONE COULD SO EASILY MOCK. I ENCOURAGE YOU: BE
INQUISITIVE, LIKE TORQUEMADA. NO ONE EXPECTS A

LAKESIDE INQUISITION!
THEN, IF YOU FIND OR DONT FIND, THIS POST WHICH MAY
OR MAY NOT EXIST, ON A BLOG THAT I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE
FOUND WITH ABOUT THIRTY SECONDS OF LOOKING ABOUT,
YOU COULD ARCHIVE IT. UNLESS THATS ALREADY BEEN
DONE.
WHO KNOWS?
-0Hoggy was unreachable. I wrote directly to Hankey and told him this shit
had to stop. I sent him a picture of my wife in the hospital that I took,
with her permission, two weeks before she died. I wanted Hankey to see
that it was a real human beings death he was mocking. Despite the fact
that I copyrighted the picture, despite the written instruction that the
photo was not meant for publication Hankey published it on the Thinking
Mans Zombie. The readership, of course, had no problem with
Krendler posting the photo, which wound up being plastered onto
websites all over the world. Their problem was with me for taking it in
the first place. It was MY fault that Krendler posted it.
Although I had taken the precaution of copyrighting the photo, who was I
going to sue. Paul Krendler? A non-existent figment of my
imagination?
At a loss for what else to do, I wrote to Hankey again and tried to covey
how serious I was about this insane, inhumane mockery of the loss of my
soulmate needed to stop and right now.
He responded by getting a restraining order against me, forbidding me to
contact him.
Therefore, without consulting with anyone (didnt want anyone to
accidentally let the cat out of the cement-block weighted bag before I
threw it off the bridge), I quietly copyrighted all my posts from the

Zombie website. That being done, I wrote this book and copyrighted it
before publication.
Then, I pulled the plug on Paul Krendler.
For a few minutes on October 19, 2015, this item appeared on the
Thinking Mans Zombie website.

MEET PAUL KRENDLER

Its the question of the century. Considerable funds have been expended
in the search for Paul Krendler. DUMBFUCK made several failed
attempts to identify me, never once coming close. At times, he stated
with absolute certainty that he knew for a FACT that I was this guy, or
that guy, or that woman, or the other woman, or somebody.
But he was always, always wrong.
But all good things must end. So must my run as the Head Zombie in
Charge.
The blog will continue. The people who set up Thinking Mans Zombie
were not thinking clearly when they failed to change the log-on
credentials after I departed the website. Im sure that mistake will be
corrected at about the same time this blog entry vanishes. But fear not.
I have a screen capture.
And the Internets are FOREVER!
So, yes. This blog will no doubt continue as long as there is a fool out
there willing to throw a shekel into the tip jar.
The blog is currently being run if thats the word for is by a Mr.
Scott Hankey in Shirley, Mass. He will, no doubt, deny this. As will my
good friend Hoggy, aka John McHog. Did you know that his mouth still
looks like a poorly-wiped ass? Would someone tell him to look in a
mirror?
This whole thing came together last year as a way to make some spare

change. But both Hoggy and I underestimated how much money stupid
right wing conservatives are willing to throw at blogs that spout their
hate-filled world view right back at them. Some bloggers are more
egregious than mine or Hoggys. He and I both personally know of a
liberal scammer who actually landed a job with Breitbart until she
departed to plumb the depths of stupidity. This chick actually faked a
stroke. SHE STARTED A BLOG, WRITING AS HER MOTHER, TOLD
EVERYONE THE LITTLE DARLING HAD A FUCKING STROKE, and
she raised something close to $150,000 from you clowns. Drop by and
say hi on your next trip to New Jersey.
This blog did pretty well for me, so I cant complain too much. You paid
off what I owed on my car. Helped me own my home free and clear. All
because I pretended to hate a guy named Bill Parvocampus. Hes not
that bad a guy, really. But Hoggy and I convinced you that he was lower
than whale shit. And you never vetted. You never checked for
yourselves. You took the word of right wing morons who took our word
and swallowed it hook, line, sinker, bobber, rod and reel. People would
say, Google his name, not aware of the fact that every single negative
entry about Bill Parvocampus was written buy me, or Hoggy, or one of
the soft-skulled nimrods who believed the fantasy.
Bill Parvocampus likes anal rape. Because we said so.
Bill Parvocampus lives in rent-assisted squalor. Because we said so.
Bill Parvocampus writes kiddy porn. Because we said so.
And our word was made flesh and dwelt among you.
And all the time, we were playing you for the fools you are.
Bill Parvocampus is actually a fairly decent fellow.
How do I know?
Because I am Paul Krendler. Or, that is, I WAS Paul Krendler.
But I always have been, and always will be

Bill Parvocampus.
Hoggy and Hankey will challenge the truth. Its what they do.
I suggest they contact the US Copyright Office before they do anything
rash. They might be surprised to see that I have copyrighted EVERY
WORD PUBLISHED as Paul Krendler.
I, Bill Parvocampus, AM Paul Krendler. Legally. Copyright 2015. All
rights reserved.
And you, my dim, dim, dim readers and follower, have been, PWNED!!!
The line to kiss my ass forms on the right.
The line to slit your own bellies in the honorable Japanese style to atone
for the shame you have brought upon yourselves forms on the left.
Those who fail to choose a line to stand in will be hunted down like
dogs.
There will be no mercy.
Goodbye, Lickspittle Morons.
Oh
And Be Well.

The post on the Thinking Man Zombie Blog was yanked before 15
minutes had passed. McHog and Hankey each posted blogs of denial. But
my screen-capped copy of the Thinking Mans Zombie post was pinned
to my Twitter timeline, posted to my personal blog, shared with friends
who also shared with their friends.
So, was I ultimately believed?
You tell me. But remember, were talking about people who think Donald
Trump will be a great leader and that Barack Obama was born in Kenya.

9.

THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A PAUL KRENDLER

Dont you worry about Paul Krendler.

Wherever a strong person is abusing a weaker person, Krendler is there.
Whenever a racist remark is made, Krendler is there.
Whenever someone hates someone else for no good reason, Krendler is
there.
In fact, I have no doubt in my mind that Krendler will claim this entire
book is a lie, or that I stole his thoughts such as they were and it
would not surprise me at all if Hoggy made the same claims, so burned
out is his formerly brilliant mind.
But possession is 9/10ths of the law. As Hoggy learned, in order to claim
copyright infringement, one must possess a copyright.
Like I do.
For this book.
So, by way of a personal note to Hoggy? Hankey? And the Whole Hee
Haw Gang?
Have your fun. Ive been playing you since April 2014.
All the lawsuits, all the charges, all the time and expense to get this
person or that person to deny he was Paul Krendler?
Hilarious.
I WAS PAUL KRENDLER!!! And you soft-skulled morons, breathing
through your mouths, thinking that Donald Trump or Ben Carson or
Marco Rubio will lead this country to greatness?
I fooled you.

I own you.
Live with it for the rest of your painful, miserable lives.
And be well.