On Saturday, April 4, 2020 at 4:17:47 PM UTC+1, Tom Kunich wrote:
On Saturday, April 4, 2020 at 4:27:30 AM UTC-7, Andre Jute wrote:
On Saturday, April 4, 2020 at 2:23:07 AM UTC+1, John B. wrote:
On Fri, 3 Apr 2020 07:21:53 -0700 (PDT), Tom Kunich
wrote:

On Friday, April 3, 2020 at 2:43:02 AM UTC-7, Andre Jute wrote:
On Saturday, March 28, 2020 at 5:18:13 AM UTC, John B. wrote:

Is knee breaking what Marxism is all about?

No, you dim dingbat, Marxism is about scrambling eggs, and we have that on the authority of V. I. Ulyanov himself. Since you're likely to know even less Russian than you know about anything else, scrambling eggs is Russian vernacular for breaking balls. Come back when you've googled Vladimir Iliych.

Andre Jute
Hey, and maybe you can tell us how people knew he had syphilis.

PS you should probably look up "vernacular" too, so that you don't make an even bigger fool of yourself.

I don't think that John is a fool so much as someone that feels left behind by time. He is trying to be modern by being one of the crowd. And since he and Frank make up most of "the crowd" he is in deep **** and doesn't even know it.

I really think that you and your buddy, the bloke that was said, "to
lack any socially redeeming qualities",

That's the problem with wannabe net bullies nipping at the ankles of their betters: Short Johnny Slo wants to hand it out but he can't take it, which is why he is now too frightened even to name me. That's smart, Short Johnny, because I do adversarial polemics for a rich living, and you're just the sort of deplorable that crunches nicely underfoot. Don't worry. By the next day I'll have forgotten your name.

are either confused or lying,

Oh, no, we're never confused, and we don't need to lie when the evidence of your vicious attempts at bullying litter the pavements of RBT like so many turds dropped by the homeless.

frankly I think that the latter is most likely,

Prove it, Short Johnny Slo.

as I never wrote any
of the above

Really? Who wrote it then if not you? Why should anyone want to impersonate a clown as insignificant as you?

that y'all appear to have attributed to me.

Really? There's no need to "attribute" anything to you when you are so careless about who knows, from your own writing, standing on Google for eternity, that you're an especially nasty class of scum.

Desperation appears to have reared it's ugly head

"reared it's ugly head"? D'you mind leaving off the cliches, Slow Johnny? They hurt my feelings, and when my feelings are hurt I react unpredictably. Also, "it's" stands for "it is", not the possessive; don't perpetrate that solecism upon the beloved language again, or I'll conclude that you don't listen too well and need a lesson taught.

when you have to
resort to lying to disparage someone.

Nah, if I expose something about you, for instance that you're a transvestite, I'll make it stick; that was why I was paid seven-figure sums in advertising. Whatever makes you think that people like Tom and me aren't already inside your head, Short Johnny? You're just a number, man, way down the list of numbers; there's nothing exceptional about you to distinguish you from the other cocky little men who tried to take out their resentments on those brighter than they are. Go look up Henry Pasternak, who thought I looked like easy meat: twenty years after I put him down and he ran, he still whines from behind a firewall that I labelled him, forever, Pompass Plodnick; this is a man who used to brag he had a master's degree from Stanford. You're out of your league, little man. You should run immediately, because from now on, every time I notice you, I'm going to kick you like a little dog yapping around my ankles. Pasternack said I was fearless and pitiless, which is true but irrelevant because I can afford to be both; the generally stupid Krygowski proved to be more observant when he sneered that I perseve you should consider what happens to you when a boss psychologist who cannot be stopped focusses even a small fraction of his attention permanently on you. (Nope, the answer isn't fame at last, it is a drip-drip of pain dissolving your marrow.) As I said, the day after you break, I won't even remember your name -- nothing personal, just business, my business, which is magnanimously showing a wannabe, you, how it is done by someone competent, me, for which I expect gratitude. Like my granny said, noblesse oblige imposes obligations and if the peasants aren't appropriately grateful, you didn't kick them hard enough.

--
cheers,

John B.

Tell me something, shortass. Do you believe suffering from Duck's Disease automatically means you have to be stupid and reckless as well? The question arises because you appear to be both, and it is foolish beyond belief for a nobody like you to put himself into the face of a professional polemicist, what's more on the internet, a wordsmith's dream medium.

Andre Jute
Darwin's Little Helper

His eighty-year old buddy turned to John:

'So I hear you're getting married?'
'Yep!'
'Do I know her?
'Nope!'
'This woman, is she good looking?'
'Not really.'
'Is she a good cook?'
'Naw, she can't cook too well.'
'Does she have lots of money?'
'Nope! Poor as a church mouse.'
'Well, then, is she good in bed?'
'I don't know.'
'Why in the world do you want to marry her then?'
'Because she can still drive!'

This is the guy commenting on a bicycle group.

Not to mention on bicyclists who cycle further in a day than Slow Johnny does in a month. What a ******. -- AJ