The Internet Makes the World Small...

     ...and it also tends to make the minds on it even smaller.
     After blocking his IP Address when his stalking again reached epic proportions on, appropriately, April Fool's Day, it seemed I'd finally shaken this parasite off my butt for good. But this is Joseph David Chadwick we're talking about here, a professional shit bird and jailbird who hasn't held an honest job since getting booted out of the Army almost a decade ago. He's a "man", and I'm forced to resort to strictly biological terms as the ordinary criteria of what comprises a man's character is, tragically, lacking in Pal Joey's case, who is only too glad to sponge off his 85 year-old grandma Sylvia in Honeyville for his bread and butter. $2000 a month worth of bread and butter, that is. Being a grandson is nice work if you can get it.
     Then today I saw a comment with the usual moniker SRD (for Sugar Ray Dodge or Seriously Retarded Degenerate) and I now see the gloves have to come off.
     Actually, I'm really quite surprised that Sugar Ray can pull his hands off his withered penis long enough while jerking off to the shrine he's set up around his laptop devoted to WWE wrestler Becky Lynch to devote any time to stalking and harassing me. Think of that harmless but still creepy little freakazoid stalker in The Bodyguard who stalked Whitney Houston's character Rachel Marron, jerked off all over her bed, kept a shrine to her in his work locker but still posed no threat.
     Well, Pal Joey may not be that harmless because he has written to Ms. Lynch through the WWE and, as we all know, this is how it starts. Then he gets resentful she won't return his affections much less his correspondence and next thing you know he's jacking off in her privet hedges when she isn't body-slamming people on the road.
     And Joey seems to have a confused notion as to what is required of an anarchist. In my mind, as I've come to understand the definition of the word, an anarchist is someone who hates the government but wishes to replace it with nothing of value but angry blog posts. It certainly doesn't require fellating Donald Rumsfeld with a Jeff Gannon-like agenda and throwing him softball questions that he's only too glad to lazily swat at. Anarchism also doesn't involve writing letters to Rush Limbaugh bitching about liberals or bragging about seeing Bush from a distance during one of his Special Needs public appearances.
     Pal Joey also doesn't seem to understand the concept of the internet and how it makes the world a much smaller place and that if you've been around long enough, there will be people on that internet who know you in the real world and that some of them won't like you because you are an incurable, stalkerish, right wing, obsessive-compulsive douchebag. It also means that if you set one toe into the internet, that one little toe will result in a footprint for guys like me to find.
     Then again, that trait seems to run in at least that generation of the Chadwick family line as his own brother's marriage messily imploded in public at an amusement park in Utah called The Lagoon in which Joe's sister in law told his twin that she was fucking another guy and that she wanted a divorce (email me and I'll show you the court documents from the divorce.).
     Fittingly, Joey's Army career abruptly came to its merciful terminus after getting sent to the Aberdeen Proving Grounds in Maryland where (and I'm merely citing this as a coincidence and not at all suggesting this is the cause for Joey's behavior) they did LSD testing on soldiers during the 60's.
     Sometime between the ignominious end of his Army career and his equally ignominious career as a wouldbe Mike Nelson of Mystery Science Theater 3000 fame, he orchestrated a phone bank scam whereby he masterminded an incredibly illegal scheme that involved calling people on the National Do Not Call List, a scheme that not only got his company FFFF in hot water to the tune of $700,000 in fines but also his own termination.
     So you see, Pal Joey's already got a history of stalking and harassing people who don't wish to hear from him and, then as now, he didn't give a shit. Because the law apparently doesn't apply to right wingers and psychopaths (or am I being tautological?).
     Now, Joseph obviously still persists in believing that yours truly doesn't or can't do research, that he's playing keep away from a doddering old fool in his ongoing game of Blind Man's Bluff and nothing could be further from the truth. After all, research is part of what I do for a living.
     So, Joey pal o' mine, this is just to let you know you've finally woken the sleeping bear. Pretty soon, I'll make you more famous than you already are or will at least be enjoying a greater degree of notoriety than your pathetic and wholly ignored abilities have garnered for you.
     So here's what I'm gonna do:
     Once I put to bed my current project, I'm going to start a contemporary thriller about an Iraq War vet who comes home to Utah whereby a series of stalkings and murders begin roiling sleepy little Weber County. But is it our war "hero" who just got a Section 8 or his equally mentally disturbed and cuckolded twin brother? You'll have to read it to find out.
     Now, people, what should I name these characters? Suggestions?