YAPPING ANKLE-NIPPERS

Ever notice how internet bullies are like chihuahuas? You walk past them and they run out and start chewing on your ankles because they got nuthin’ better to do with their time? I guess their writing schedules are like this “write two lines” and blog ten. Rinse and repeat. I have not been able to decide whether old Daftstine’s hair had the gray taken out with a black rinse or a purple one. It’s hard to color the gray for any length of time, least that’s what my wife used to say. And then the gray bleeds back through and you can tell that the person dyes their hair. So if you look close enough, I’m certain you can tell that old Dafty colors his hair.

Vain old sod, ain’t he?

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Dafty is daft, if you haven’t figured that out for yourself yet.

The old sodomite seems to think that he’s some kind of unrecognized wunderkind. (betcha thought i couldn’t use words that big, didn’t ya?).

innyways, as i was saying, Daftstine got this here idea that by being mean to folks would lend him the oora of genius. After all, mean nasty folks are always geniuses, right? So he gets nasty and nastier, and even nastier. And then he uses one of his trollish alts to pretend that he’s his own greatest fan. Now, if that old sod had any fans, don’t you think they would have shown up instead of leaving him with nothing better to do than to use an alt? Leaves me scratching my old gray head, it does.

You ever wonder why Voltaire used to sign his letters “crush the infamy” instead of something normal like “sincerely.”? I bet it was because of folks like Daftstine.

Kady’s Vengeance

I got me a new-fangled book out. It’s one a those there ebook thingees. That’s the only place’ll publish a wasted, washed-out old codger like me. Can’t really call it writin’ cause I’m not a writer. Was once. Ayup, I was. It ain’t self-published. I’m not that bad off yet. It ain’t no cheap small press either, less’n you call all ebooks small press. But I think that’s not a nifty bodacious thing to do. Nope, I don’t.

Anyways, this here book (let’s not call it a novel because writers write those, and I’m not a writer, if you catch my drift?) . Anyways, (I seem to have lost my train of thought there and my bottle of moonshine is empty… I think the dog drank it), I threw together a bunch of words — more than 90,000 of them into book, mostly coherent, I think, and I called it a book called Kady’s Vengeance. (Now where’s another damned bottle of liquor? How am I going stay drunk enough to write gud?)

It’s about these here wolfweres (no I didn’t get it wrong) and they’s in big trouble. But one’a their bitches (don’t ya just love getting away with calling all the females bitches?) gets a hair up her arse and gathers an army (you see, she was not getting enough cause her husband got his wagstaff broke…) and starts a war. What you think? Okay, idea?

Well, if’n you can stand to read my incoherent prose, feel free to buy a copy just so’s I can afford more liquor.

Daftstine Strikes Again. HAR HAR

Ayup. Daftstine is back. That old ornery troll done got sneaky. Ya know how it is with trolls, they hide and pop up from behind their rocks and toadstools and cry “booga-booga” just when they think you’re not looking. HAH! My old hound dog can smell’em a mile off. He started howling last night and sure enough there was more PassieAnnie Troll Screed on the net, and a few Daftstine droppings in the yard.

Now, old Daftstine, he put himself up a fence so’s his Troll Screed could not be challenged. They call them things a bannation or something. Anyways, Daftstine thought he could keep this old codger from getting in and having a look around. Nah, sort of worked, but sort of didn’t. I suspect that it was either my shotgun of enlightenment or my sword of grammar I was carrying that caused it, but the whole damned forum thingee went down.

Ayup, it’s me

Not too long ago, the only varmint I had messing with me was old PassieAnnie.  He’s been silent lately, but I got me a new varmint hanging around my shack and sticking his ugly nose in it.  His name is Fanny Annie Daftstine.  When ya run into someone like them, you remember all them warnings about Trolls in the woods.  Ayup, Daftstine is one bodacious damn troll.  He speaks in troll screed most of the time.  Lies and half-truths up the arse.  Makes a body wonder just what the world has come to when Troll Screed gets passed off as the English Language.

It’s like the time those Bloody Brits stole our warship and sailed the poor old Chesapeake  home to foreign waters when she never ought to have been made to go there in the first place.  Now, Old Daftstine is a looking for someone to sell them a stolen warship of a story, but in the end it’s best to just hole the hulls and run.

Now, back in the olden days, we would have hung him up by his thumbs and nailed his wagstaff to a pole.  But these are supposed to be Po-lite times.  I don’t hold with Po-lite times.  I’m always looking for the dagger he’s holding behind his back.

Hallo, I don’t belong here

I’m an ornery old cuss. That’s why most of my blogs are called ‘cussedness.’ I’ve decided that sense folks seem so determined to take me on, that they oughta get used to the real me.

I ain’t exactly civilized. I’m not fit for po-lite society. Nope, definitely not. I learned to shoot on an old P-38, pinging tin cans off a tree stump. I always favored loud-mouthed hounds. You know, that kind with a bluging bay. You can always tell when you have a varmint in the yard from the sound of those hounds.

Nothing PC about me neither. I always thought that PC meant polite chatting, but I was informed by that troll named Fanny Annie Daftstine that it meant political correctness. Now ain’t that just weird? Since when has politics ever been correct?

Anyways, I used to be a writer. Now I’m just an embittered has-been with a good set of chompers.