Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Shitbird (w/apologies to Wallace Stevens)

     

     There are myriad ways of looking at people like Dave Chadwick and just as many myriad ways of dealing with them. One can ignore them, which didn't work for me when he began harassing me in June of 2014. One can report them when they start crossing the line from run-of-the-mill harassment to outright stalking (Another tactic that I had to try in December 2015).

     Then there's outright ridicule, my preferred method, since people like Dave Chadwick have such an infallible instinct for fucking up their own lives then bring themselves into even greater notice beyond local infamy to try to coherently rail against such well-deserved ridicule.

     The life of Dave Chadwick, internet troll extraordinaire, is marked by one manic lurch after another from one profession and pipe dream after another. In the last five and a half years, he's gone from being a trailer-dwelling WWE fan obsessed with Becky Lynch to having wingnut welfare dumped on him in the form of a six figure publishing contract at a right wing Israeli publisher. Then, after he couldn't provide them with any original content that Amazon wouldn't reject on the grounds of copyright infringement, then he became an "executive" with that same publisher where his sole focus was in brow-beating authors into paying huge sums of money to get back the rights to their orphaned titles.

     Then came the contract buyout when the outfit got bought up by an even bigger right wing publisher in which Cheesedick got, at minimum, $600,000 for the three year contract in which he was paid $200,000 a year for screaming at authors and producing nothing they could take to market.

     Then he decided, while still in Israel, to become a professional wrestler. That one still leaves me scratching my head but the one thing that didn't surprise me was when Dave kept trying to grift money from his so-called fan base without, pointedly, telling them about the publishing contract, executive position, $600,000 contract buyout or the fact he was even living in Israel. "Training expenses", was how he described it. Typically, the late Andy Kaufman made a bigger impact on professional wrestling. Unsurprisingly, Becky Lynch never came calling.

     Soon thereafter, Chadwick and his gold digger wife Fiona came back home. Then Dave got another lucrative three book deal with the next publishing scheme set up by his one man welfare office, Schlomo Goldbloom. Then that blew up before, once again, he could provide them with any marketable properties when several executives got arrested for fraud. Once again, Dave was without a contract.

     Then the wingnut welfare began to peter out for poor Dave but not quite. Perhaps because they blew all his money on jet-setting trips all over the world, perhaps because of erectile dysfunction issues, Fiona the Gold Digger left his ass and went for a younger right wing operative when she decided to revive her dormant career in right wing politics. Before anyone knew it, she was married again and Dave wasn't.

     There were still two big unearned paydays left and that was when Scholomo Goldbloom kicked the bucket (the rumor was that COVID did him in) and gave America's least famous welfare queen one last payday by naming him in his will. Then Dave and his twin brother Danny strong-armed their dying grandmother on her deathbed to sign over her house to them on her imminent death. They apparently didn't seem to care one bit that the old lady, when she was of sounder mind and body, intended to bequeath that house to her own children, Danny and Dave's aunts and uncles.

     A few months went by then Dave decided to ditch his Sugar Ray Dodge moniker and publish fiction under his own name. OK, nice, normal venture, right? Who would begrudge a failed, middle aged man one last stab at literary glory? Well, not so fast. This literary opus, Monkey, is actually a retread of an older book he'd written and its new material seems to have been inserted so he could take some ignorant potshots at the long-gone Obama administration.

     And that brings us to the next incarnation of the sadly hilarious shitshow that is the life of Joseph David Chadwick: Cult leader.

     That's right. According to my source, Dave's scouting out locations in at least four states for what he called a "commune", one that will include a farm, church and community center. Now, I don't know what he knows about farming aside from sowing discontent among those unfortunate enough to cross his baleful path but I can confidently predict that, like everything else in his self-absorbed life, it will benefit him in some way and I don't mean spiritually. All he needs is a name for his embryonic church.

     Names have flitted through his vacuous skull such as “church of the lamb of god” and “church of the truth and light”. I'm not making this up. With Dave Chadwick as a subject, one never has to reach the heights of existential absurdity. In fact, three of the states being scouted are Wyoming, Nebraska and New Mexico.

     Since I seem to have a flair for naming my blog posts and books, perhaps I can be of assistance in helping our friend name his cult. How about the Church of Sugar Ray Tax Dodge, since that would be more in keeping with his grubby, self-interested life? Because buying up arid prairie or desert land costs money and that would probably soak up his dwindling funds from Schlomo's legacy. And cults require cult members, especially those with deep pockets and are able to tithe generously. As in the Mormon church that apparently Dave thinks has gotten soft, sloppy and liberal.

     This is where the tax exempt status comes in. We all know it's absurdly easy to petition for, and get, a 501(c)(3) tax exempt status courtesy of Uncle Sam. All one need do to download and parse the generous loopholes in the IRS's Publication 1828 (.pdf file) and you, too, can become unto those mighty, megachurch hucksters who then go on to buy fleets of private jets so they can spread the word of their God of Mammon.

     Of course, there's a slender but notable and quite important distinction between what separates a church from a cult. As the old saying goes, a church teaches you a God died for you whereas a cult often teaches you to die for your God. Thankfully, not all cults are ones in which mass extinction is the planned endgame. But, as you can expect, Dave has become something of a local crank in his spare time when he's not trying to be the poor man's right wing Walter Mitty. He's, as one can expect, anti mask, anti-vaccine (accounting almost surely from his recent trip to a local hospital and then quarantining himself in his reeking trailer in Farr West).

     So, when one marries those apocalyptic sensibilities to his scheme to set up a cult out in the middle of nowhere, it only follows that visions of news helicopter shots of multi-colored, supine bodies can't be far behind.