Criminals Love to Hire Other Criminals

     I swore I wouldn't do this.
     I swore that I wouldn't expend any more time and energy on this vaguely humanoid-shaped black hole of wingnut welfare and white privilege, especially after finding out that he and his gold digger wife were living just 25 miles east of me in Boston. Poking bears with sharp sticks and all that.
     But for those of you who may be wondering what became of our middle-aged right wing hero fighting a never-ending battle with truth, justice and the American way in various shitty professional wrestling venues throughout Israel, here's what my sources had told me months ago.
     Apparently, when the right wing sewer mill that bought Masada-King Solomon and Cheesedick's contract for a cool $600,000, they also continued paying his rent for a limited amount of time. Then his wife Fiona, tired of being a gold digger, decided she wanted to revive her career as a right wing political consultant.
     With the sort of unerring aim that leaves me utterly convinced the universe is simultaneously giving me a middle finger while pointing directly at me while saying, "There you are. I'm not through with you, yet," random fate had seen fit to deposit the Chadwicks in Boston, just 25.9 miles east of my doorstep. Apparently, that's where Mrs. Cheesedick's job took her.
     Then the George Floyd riots began in late May. The lily-white Chadwicks, fearing the scary, uppity blacks, decided to seek refuge in a cabin in New Hampshire owned by none other than Shlomo (Slo Mo) Goldbloom, the very same asshole that had sold Masada-King Solomon for a killing after he'd orphaned several titles that weren't sufficiently right wing.
     So, while cowering in their little Granite State cabin waiting for the scary darkies to go back home (My own son was one of them), Slo Mo calls up Dave and offers him another contract, this one as Chief Content Officer. Apparently, Slo Mo liked to make his living back then buying up distressed publishing houses, cratering them then selling off the chunks to bigger publishing houses.
     Last February, Slo Mo bought up another one- This one made up of the refugees of Masada-King Solomon, also based in Israel. Well, they made a go of it and, predictably, they failed. You see, their focus was in acquiring properties by Dave Cheesedick while simultaneously blackballing me (I'm a troublemaker, you see, for defending myself against a stalker, but more on that later).
     They even reached out to him, a guy who got paid $600,000 to produce exactly zero properties that Masada could take to the market (the only result of this stunningly brilliant contract offer was a limp retread of his Mystery Science Theater 3000 ripoff that was rejected by Amazon on the grounds of, wait for it, I know this sounds like a bridge too far, copyright infringement). This gave Cheesedick the absurd opportunity to tell them to go fuck themselves.
    Yes, he was an "executive" with that same company.
    So they'd contracted him to produce three original new works, the first one, predictably, yet another limp retread of his failed 2008 opus, The Tumbleweed Dossier, updated to include a racist parody of Barack Obama, a guy who hasn't been president in nearly four years. Apparently, Slo Mo read it and nearly ejaculated in his pants, exclaiming, "Why are we not publishing this?!"
     Then I'd gotten directly from his eager, sweaty little fingertips (Yes, I'm one of his beta readers) the synopses of his latest magnum opuses. This is the second one:

     “Rejection Letter” - Story centers around a literary agent who is one of many targeted for revenge by an unhinged rejected author. Literary agents are receiving letter bombs and law enforcement is desperately trying to track down the perpetrator who is living in a trailer (in) central Massachusetts." 

    
     Sound like anyone we know? You have to admit, this is a masterpiece of right wing swamp fever projection considering just a few years ago Cheesedick himself was living in a trailer reeking of his own body odor when he got that wingnut welfare four years ago from Masada.

     It's also the most pathetic example of right wing pettiness that I've heard of in the publishing world since the late Michael Crichton rewrote his final novel to include a character based on one of his more uncharitable critics and painting him as a pedophile.
     It also ought to be known at this point that I have not engaged with Dave Chadwick in well over a year and a half since he chased his middle-aged dream of becoming a mental midget wrestler in Israel. Perhaps in an attempt to balance the scales of stalkerdom, his twin brother Danny has until recently been picking up where his sexually impotent twin left off before I told him we were done.
     Then I'd seen this: Chadwick was so bereft of original ideas he had to tap into his obsession over me and continue stalking and harassing me with a novel painting me as a letter bomber of literary agents. You just can't make this shit up. That's why right wing publishers hire hacks like Dave Chadwick.
     Being the compliant little house husband that he was (Yes, past tense but more on that in a bit), he'd stayed in Massachusetts for the time being while Fiona chased down her dream of being the next Kellyanne Conway, which was why he was able to wangle a deal to work from the United States instead of jetting back to Tel Aviv. That means he would've been within legal reach of any defamation of character lawsuit I may have had to launch against him.
     Apparently, Cheesedick's magnum opus starring yours truly was nixed by Slo Mo. This was the last dispatch by Bunker Bitch 2.0 to which I was privy:

Both those ideas I shared yesterday were immediately vetoed by my boss, he didn't like either of them at all, so neither of them will be seeing the light of day. Instead, he wants me to focus on the updated version of Tumbleweed, turning that into a three part series. The original novel will be the first in the series, followed by two sequels.

     Oh good. The poor man's version of From Dusk 'Till Dawn will be a trilogy.
     So, just as I was thinking that perhaps God ought to be put in four point restraints and force-fed Haldol through his fat cosmic keister for smiling his utterly insane beneficence on the most undeserving shit beetles to ever crawl across the face of the earth, I got an email this morning from a friend of mine in Utah.

     Dave is living with his vestigial twin Danny in the house they essentially stole from their grandmother Sylvia Green in Honeyville, Utah. This was averred to me personally by their own uncle Morris who, along with his siblings, was supposed to inherit the house on her death until the Church of Latter Day Saints' version of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum conned her into signing over the deed to them just before her death.
     So why is Jailbird Joe now living in Utah again? What happened to those brilliant Magnum Opuses he was going to write?
     Well, my friend's surprising but very well-received letter went on to state that not only is he back in Utah where he's busy filling his grandmother's old house with his body odor, he came alone. Where O where is his wife Fiona?
     Apparently, she did exactly as I predicted and ran out on him at exactly the moment the money from his contract buyout had. He's also now going freelance again after his three book contract and executive position  had been axed. Yes, what happened with that?
     Well, according to my anonymous but very trustworthy sources, Dave's new "publisher" went tits up after a huge scandal landed a few of their executives in prison and I can only hope that Slo Mo Goldbloom was one of them.
     So, Dave Cheesedick, my erstwhile stalker, lost his publishing contract, his job, his home and his wife all at the same time and those close to him say he has a shell-shocked look on his face as if this had happened in the last day or two. My, how quickly and thoroughly the worm turns.
     And this, boys and girls, is why my ongoing adoration of the Goddess Karma is the closest I'll ever get to any religion.