The queen who follows me around the Internet who accuses me of everything from murder to (gasp!) using a pseudonym (actually schnukums I have several and they all publish) has offered to stop harassing me if I will (I'm so shocked) pay him money.
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
I wish him luck on that. You are whose army...
Oh, the Texas army. I forgot.
I suppose that the little army of people he impersonates will all need some of that, too.
Does extortion ring a bell.
I love his comments on other websites where he screams to know what my sexuality is. Like who I sleep with needs his personal stamp of approval.
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
In one of his more demented incarnations he claims I owe him money I robbed from him.
Now, how could it be that I would owe money to a gay porn writer who hasn't published anything -- not even gay porn -- since the 1980s.
Schnukums, I hear they're hiring at the Austin Salvation Army.
But no. Disability pays more.
They kicked his ass off Wikipedia.
Whenever my name appears on his Google Alert (we are supposed to be impressed that Mister Gurufan can handle Google Alert), he jumps in to say: Tim Barrus was Nasdijj.
No one knew that.
Calm the fuck down, Bayou Boy.
I'll make you a deal. I will pay you and all your personalities to stop harassing me but first you have to lose 450 pounds.
Schnukums, it's bad for your blood pressure.
Eat shit and die, bitch.
"I will get you," he claims.
You and all the other Internet psychotics. The line around the block forms in the rear.
He can't take his eyes off me. And so witty, too.
It must get dull as doorknobs in Austin. Austin, Boston; it kinda rhymes. Every so often his meds wear off.
Why self-medicate. He has me.
He claims I write him personal letters (but he lost them) and that we had not only a correspondence, but a relationship.
Right.
He leaves his rants and bile on the boys' various email accounts.
He threatens physical harm.
I suppose you will shake your righteous cane.
Oh, ho hum.
