Neanderpundit

and cries thustly:

I’m six-foot two, one hundred eighty pounds,

Well, that confirms it. I’ve shit bigger than you.

fifty-two years old,

With the emotional development of a six year old whiny baby.

and I can still beat most twenty year-olds up the rope-ladder to a lights truss.

A roadie. Figures.

I walk my father’s land with a rifle regularly,

ooh, his daddy lets him carry a rifle.

and I last worked at my job in South Africa.

You worked?

I’ll do it next in Tokyo, on my own two feet and with every power that I was originally born with.

Which pitiably does not include decency, courtesy, intellectual honesty, common sense, or a brain.

You are a presumptuous ignoramus, “Og”,

I may be an ignoramus, that’s true. But I am smart enough not to worship at the altar of that queen of ignoramuses, Ayn Rand.

and just the sort of snack that I might chomp in a couple of bloody splashes in the general net.water,

in other words, you’re too much a fucking coward to bring your bullshit to anyone in the REAL WORLD because you know in the REAL WORLD your attitude would get your face pasted into the sidewalk. As you so richly deserve.

but there are other fatter fish to bag.

In other words, “Run away!!!”

Cry on.

Yes, you will, you always do.

Billy, you emotional infant, you have been banned from so many sites becuase of your bad manners, your general ignorance, and your persistence in trying to foist your patently ignorant and demonstrably wrong worldview on everyone you meet, I’m surprised that you haven’t yet figured out what a fucktard you are.

Wait, no I’m not.

note the new link to breda on the sidebar. Sorry, Ma’am, I’ve been meaning to put that there a while. Anyone who links to me that I haven’t returned the favor, by all means post and I’ll get alink up.

Roberta, you’re hot, and not just in that sister of my childhood friend who I used to spy on naked while angrily aggravating my Cumulative Trauma Disorder (CTD, as in, look it up, douchebag), either.

Okay, onto little billy blastoff. A classic case of that spoiled little shitbird, you know, the one we’ve all met at least once in our lives.

Hi Billy! I respect you. Honestly, I do. I mean, you’re what, 55-60 years old, still sporting a ponytail, does the wannabe prison code chickenshit, and yaks guitars all day long. Well, at least we know where we can get some really good shit from now, don’t we? Okay, ya got me. I have more respect for Barney Frank than I do for you. At least Barney admits he’s chugs cock.
Hey, why don’t you have comments on your page? Scared of something? Were you punked in county? How many times? Now I haven’t bothered to skim through your entire page, but what about the prison tats? Come on! Tough guys like you who weigh all of a buck-fifty, soaking wet with five dollars of change in your pockets always have really cool prison tats!

And dude… the pic of you riding the lawnboy? Fucking awesome! If that doen’t get you laid, nothing will. Talk about the first thing I’ll toss out if I ever break down and get a website. Can you seriously picture all the tang that’ll be chasing me if I toss out a pic like that? Of course, you’re probably beating the dirty legs off with a stick as I type.

Like I said, motherfucker. Barney Fucking Frank. You wanna play with the big boys, congrats, you’ve found em.

Oh Billy, you’re welcome.