Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
the imagination at its finest,
you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
then the rock and country star, complete with band
as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
looking to be recognized.

Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
you hustle her and children to various places
where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
think differently.

I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
as lies what was read and reproduced.

The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.

Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
who lives inside dreams?

Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
to become someone.

Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my observations of this dullard, correct?

The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just nonsense
of a make-belove world where Dockery is King without a Kingdom
supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.

Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.

Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.

That is the biggest lie of all.

"Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpooljimmy1@aol.com> wrote in
news:39857daf-99c3-451b-864b-4655300791bcn@googlegroups.com:

> Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> the imagination at its finest,
> you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> then the rock and country star, complete with band
> as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
> into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> looking to be recognized.
>
> Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> you hustle her and children to various places
> where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> think differently.
>
> I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
> as lies what was read and reproduced.
>
> The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
>
> Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
> who lives inside dreams?
>
> Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
> cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
> to become someone.
>
> Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my
> observations of this dullard, correct?
>
> The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just
> nonsense of a make-belove world where Dockery is King without a
> Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
>
> Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.
>
> Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
> so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
>
> That is the biggest lie of all.

I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole lotta
stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft vertebrae
onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine implantation
operation ever takes effect.

On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> > the imagination at its finest,
> > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
> > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> > looking to be recognized.
The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot taller than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> >
> > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> > you hustle her and children to various places
> > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> > think differently.
What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in a paid who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people" about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad thinks they should be?

> >
> > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
> > as lies what was read and reproduced.
Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but wearing his dirty laundry?
> >
> > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> >
> > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
> > who lives inside dreams?
Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> >
> > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
> > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
> > to become someone.
And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would succeed where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> >
> > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my
> > observations of this dullard, correct?
Correct.
> >
> > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just
> > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King without a
> > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> >
> > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.
The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt and pants that made him a STAR.

> >
> > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
> > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
A circle of one.
> >
> > That is the biggest lie of all.
> I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole lotta
> stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft vertebrae
> onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine implantation
> operation ever takes effect.
The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of the day and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead or cut-off from his lifeline.

On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 8:04:45 AM UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> the imagination at its finest,
> you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> then the rock and country star, complete with band
> as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
> into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> looking to be recognized.
>
> Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> you hustle her and children to various places
> where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> think differently.
>
> I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
> as lies what was read and reproduced.
>
> The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
>
> Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
> who lives inside dreams?
>
> Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
> cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
> to become someone.
>
> Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my observations of this dullard, correct?
>
> The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just nonsense
> of a make-belove world where Dockery is King without a Kingdom
> supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
>
> Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.
>
> Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
> so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
>
> That is the biggest lie of all.

On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> > > the imagination at its finest,
> > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
> > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> > > looking to be recognized.
> The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot taller than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> > >
> > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> > > you hustle her and children to various places
> > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> > > think differently.
> What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in a paid who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people" about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad thinks they should be?
> > >
> > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
> > > as lies what was read and reproduced.
> Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but wearing his dirty laundry?
> > >
> > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
> And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> > >
> > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
> > > who lives inside dreams?
> Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> > >
> > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
> > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
> > > to become someone.
> And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would succeed where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> > >
> > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my
> > > observations of this dullard, correct?
> Correct.
> > >
> > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just
> > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King without a
> > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
> Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> > >
> > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.
> The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt and pants that made him a STAR.
> > >
> > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
> > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
> A circle of one.
> > >
> > > That is the biggest lie of all.
> > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole lotta
> > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft vertebrae
> > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine implantation
> > operation ever takes effect.
> The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of the day and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead or cut-off from his lifeline.

Watch,  and I'll show you my power:
twenty-five posts in two hours,
mostly consisting of one line,
reflecting my wine broken mind.
I call myself a Dharma Bum.
My head is pounding like a drum.
I feel like I'm having a stroke.
Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...

On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:34:11 AM UTC-4, Robert Burrows wrote:
> On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> > > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> > > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> > > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> > > > the imagination at its finest,
> > > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> > > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> > > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> > > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
> > > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> > > > looking to be recognized.
> > The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot taller than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> > > >
> > > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> > > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> > > > you hustle her and children to various places
> > > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> > > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> > > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> > > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> > > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> > > > think differently.
> > What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in a paid who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people" about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad thinks they should be?
> > > >
> > > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> > > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> > > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> > > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
> > > > as lies what was read and reproduced.
> > Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but wearing his dirty laundry?
> > > >
> > > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> > > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
> > And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> > > >
> > > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> > > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> > > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
> > > > who lives inside dreams?
> > Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> > > >
> > > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> > > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
> > > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
> > > > to become someone.
> > And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would succeed where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> > > >
> > > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my
> > > > observations of this dullard, correct?
> > Correct.
> > > >
> > > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just
> > > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King without a
> > > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
> > Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> > > >
> > > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> > > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> > > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> > > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.
> > The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt and pants that made him a STAR.
> > > >
> > > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
> > > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
> > A circle of one.
> > > >
> > > > That is the biggest lie of all.
> > > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole lotta
> > > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft vertebrae
> > > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine implantation
> > > operation ever takes effect.
> > The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of the day and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead or cut-off from his lifeline.
> Watch, and I'll show you my power:
> twenty-five posts in two hours,
> mostly consisting of one line,
> reflecting my wine broken mind.
> I call myself a Dharma Bum.
> My head is pounding like a drum.
> I feel like I'm having a stroke.
> Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...

ENCORE!1! Competition for LOL of teh day is now closed-- we already have a sure winner with this here!

On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:56:06 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:34:11 AM UTC-4, Robert Burrows wrote:
> > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> > > > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> > > > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> > > > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> > > > > the imagination at its finest,
> > > > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> > > > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> > > > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> > > > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
> > > > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> > > > > looking to be recognized.
> > > The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot taller than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> > > > >
> > > > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> > > > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> > > > > you hustle her and children to various places
> > > > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> > > > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> > > > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> > > > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> > > > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> > > > > think differently.
> > > What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in a paid who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people" about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad thinks they should be?
> > > > >
> > > > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> > > > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> > > > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> > > > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
> > > > > as lies what was read and reproduced.
> > > Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but wearing his dirty laundry?
> > > > >
> > > > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> > > > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
> > > And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> > > > >
> > > > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> > > > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> > > > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
> > > > > who lives inside dreams?
> > > Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> > > > >
> > > > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> > > > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
> > > > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
> > > > > to become someone.
> > > And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would succeed where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> > > > >
> > > > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my
> > > > > observations of this dullard, correct?
> > > Correct.
> > > > >
> > > > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just
> > > > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King without a
> > > > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
> > > Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> > > > >
> > > > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> > > > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> > > > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> > > > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.
> > > The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt and pants that made him a STAR.
> > > > >
> > > > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
> > > > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
> > > A circle of one.
> > > > >
> > > > > That is the biggest lie of all.
> > > > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole lotta
> > > > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft vertebrae
> > > > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine implantation
> > > > operation ever takes effect.
> > > The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of the day and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead or cut-off from his lifeline.
> > Watch, and I'll show you my power:
> > twenty-five posts in two hours,
> > mostly consisting of one line,
> > reflecting my wine broken mind.
> > I call myself a Dharma Bum.
> > My head is pounding like a drum.
> > I feel like I'm having a stroke.
> > Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...
> ENCORE!1! Competition for LOL of teh day is now closed-- we already have a sure winner with this here!
👍

HC <yogibare101@gmail.com> wrote in
news:0e79fdb9-f0d4-4c4e-8eb3-e71540144306n@googlegroups.com:

> On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:56:06 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
>> On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:34:11 AM UTC-4, Robert Burrows wrote:
>> > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
>> > > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet
>> > > wrote:
>
>> > > > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
>> > > > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
>> > > > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
>> > > > > the imagination at its finest,
>> > > > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
>> > > > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
>> > > > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
>> > > > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all
>> > > > > combined
>
>> > > > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
>> > > > > looking to be recognized.
>> > > The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot
>> > > tal
> ler than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
>> > > > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
>> > > > > you hustle her and children to various places
>> > > > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
>> > > > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
>> > > > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
>> > > > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
>> > > > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
>> > > > > think differently.
>> > > What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in
>> > > a pa
> id who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people"
> about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad
> thinks they should be?
>> > > > >
>> > > > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
>> > > > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
>> > > > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
>> > > > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then
>> > > > > deny as lies what was read and reproduced.
>> > > Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but
>> > > wearing
> his dirty laundry?
>> > > > >
>> > > > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
>> > > > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
>> > > And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
>> > > > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
>> > > > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by
>> > > > > one
>
>> > > > > who lives inside dreams?
>> > > Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
>> > > > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never
>> > > > > left
> ,
>> > > > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the
>> > > > > stru
> ggle
>> > > > > to become someone.
>> > > And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would
>> > > succeed
> where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star
> of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are
>> > > > > my observations of this dullard, correct?
>> > > Correct.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read,
>> > > > > just
>
>> > > > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King
>> > > > > without a
>
>> > > > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
>> > > Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
>> > > > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
>> > > > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
>> > > > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed
>> > > > > away.
>
>> > > The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt
>> > > and
> pants that made him a STAR.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave
>> > > > > their l
> ife
>> > > > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
>> > > A circle of one.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > That is the biggest lie of all.
>> > > > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole
>> > > > lott
> a
>> > > > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft
>> > > > vertebr
> ae
>> > > > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine
>> > > > implantati
> on
>> > > > operation ever takes effect.
>> > > The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of
>> > > the da
> y and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead
> or cut-off from his lifeline.
>> > Watch, and I'll show you my power:
>> > twenty-five posts in two hours,
>> > mostly consisting of one line,
>> > reflecting my wine broken mind.
>> > I call myself a Dharma Bum.
>> > My head is pounding like a drum.
>> > I feel like I'm having a stroke.
>> > Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...
>> ENCORE!1! Competition for LOL of teh day is now closed-- we already
>> have
> a sure winner with this here!

There once was a Douchebag named Willie
Whose attempts at singing went shrilly
Drunks in clown shoes
Should lay off the booze
Because he's a smelly hillbilly.

On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 4:23:27 PM UTC-4, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> HC <yogib...@gmail.com> wrote in
> news:0e79fdb9-f0d4-4c4e...@googlegroups.com:
> > On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:56:06 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> >> On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:34:11 AM UTC-4, Robert Burrows wrote:
> >> > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> >> > > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet
> >> > > wrote:
> >
> >> > > > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> >> > > > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> >> > > > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> >> > > > > the imagination at its finest,
> >> > > > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> >> > > > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> >> > > > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> >> > > > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all
> >> > > > > combined
> >
> >> > > > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> >> > > > > looking to be recognized.
> >> > > The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot
> >> > > tal
> > ler than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> >> > > > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> >> > > > > you hustle her and children to various places
> >> > > > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> >> > > > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> >> > > > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> >> > > > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> >> > > > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> >> > > > > think differently.
> >> > > What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in
> >> > > a pa
> > id who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people"
> > about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad
> > thinks they should be?
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> >> > > > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> >> > > > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> >> > > > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then
> >> > > > > deny as lies what was read and reproduced.
> >> > > Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but
> >> > > wearing
> > his dirty laundry?
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> >> > > > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
> >> > > And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> >> > > > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> >> > > > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by
> >> > > > > one
> >
> >> > > > > who lives inside dreams?
> >> > > Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> >> > > > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never
> >> > > > > left
> > ,
> >> > > > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the
> >> > > > > stru
> > ggle
> >> > > > > to become someone.
> >> > > And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would
> >> > > succeed
> > where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star
> > of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are
> >> > > > > my observations of this dullard, correct?
> >> > > Correct.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read,
> >> > > > > just
> >
> >> > > > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King
> >> > > > > without a
> >
> >> > > > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
> >> > > Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> >> > > > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> >> > > > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> >> > > > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed
> >> > > > > away.
> >
> >> > > The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt
> >> > > and
> > pants that made him a STAR.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave
> >> > > > > their l
> > ife
> >> > > > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
> >> > > A circle of one.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > That is the biggest lie of all.
> >> > > > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole
> >> > > > lott
> > a
> >> > > > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft
> >> > > > vertebr
> > ae
> >> > > > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine
> >> > > > implantati
> > on
> >> > > > operation ever takes effect.
> >> > > The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of
> >> > > the da
> > y and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead
> > or cut-off from his lifeline.
> >> > Watch, and I'll show you my power:
> >> > twenty-five posts in two hours,
> >> > mostly consisting of one line,
> >> > reflecting my wine broken mind.
> >> > I call myself a Dharma Bum.
> >> > My head is pounding like a drum.
> >> > I feel like I'm having a stroke.
> >> > Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...
> >> ENCORE!1! Competition for LOL of teh day is now closed-- we already
> >> have
> > a sure winner with this here!
> There once was a Douchebag named Willie
> Whose attempts at singing went shrilly
> Drunks in clown shoes
> Should lay off the booze
> Because he's a smelly hillbilly.
🥸

On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:34:11 AM UTC-4, Robert Burrows wrote:
> On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> > > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> > > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> > > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> > > > the imagination at its finest,
> > > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> > > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> > > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> > > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all combined
> > > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> > > > looking to be recognized.
> > The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot taller than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> > > >
> > > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> > > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> > > > you hustle her and children to various places
> > > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> > > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> > > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> > > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> > > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> > > > think differently.
> > What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in a paid who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people" about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad thinks they should be?
> > > >
> > > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> > > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> > > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> > > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then deny
> > > > as lies what was read and reproduced.
> > Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but wearing his dirty laundry?
> > > >
> > > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> > > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
> > And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> > > >
> > > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> > > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> > > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by one
> > > > who lives inside dreams?
> > Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> > > >
> > > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> > > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never left,
> > > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the struggle
> > > > to become someone.
> > And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would succeed where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> > > >
> > > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are my
> > > > observations of this dullard, correct?
> > Correct.
> > > >
> > > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read, just
> > > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King without a
> > > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
> > Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> > > >
> > > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> > > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> > > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> > > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed away.
> > The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt and pants that made him a STAR.
> > > >
> > > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave their life
> > > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
> > A circle of one.
> > > >
> > > > That is the biggest lie of all.
> > > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole lotta
> > > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft vertebrae
> > > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine implantation
> > > operation ever takes effect.
> > The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of the day and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead or cut-off from his lifeline.
> Watch, and I'll show you my power:
> twenty-five posts in two hours,
> mostly consisting of one line,
> reflecting my wine broken mind.
> I call myself a Dharma Bum.
> My head is pounding like a drum.
> I feel like I'm having a stroke.
> Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...

Brilliant.

On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 8:23:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> HC <yogib...@gmail.com> wrote in
> news:0e79fdb9-f0d4-4c4e...@googlegroups.com:
> > On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:56:06 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> >> On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:34:11 AM UTC-4, Robert Burrows wrote:
> >> > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> >> > > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet
> >> > > wrote:
> >
> >> > > > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> >> > > > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> >> > > > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> >> > > > > the imagination at its finest,
> >> > > > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> >> > > > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> >> > > > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> >> > > > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all
> >> > > > > combined
> >
> >> > > > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> >> > > > > looking to be recognized.
> >> > > The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot
> >> > > tal
> > ler than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> >> > > > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> >> > > > > you hustle her and children to various places
> >> > > > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> >> > > > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> >> > > > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> >> > > > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> >> > > > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> >> > > > > think differently.
> >> > > What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in
> >> > > a pa
> > id who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people"
> > about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad
> > thinks they should be?
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> >> > > > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> >> > > > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> >> > > > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then
> >> > > > > deny as lies what was read and reproduced.
> >> > > Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but
> >> > > wearing
> > his dirty laundry?
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> >> > > > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
> >> > > And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> >> > > > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> >> > > > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by
> >> > > > > one
> >
> >> > > > > who lives inside dreams?
> >> > > Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> >> > > > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never
> >> > > > > left
> > ,
> >> > > > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the
> >> > > > > stru
> > ggle
> >> > > > > to become someone.
> >> > > And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would
> >> > > succeed
> > where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star
> > of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are
> >> > > > > my observations of this dullard, correct?
> >> > > Correct.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read,
> >> > > > > just
> >
> >> > > > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King
> >> > > > > without a
> >
> >> > > > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
> >> > > Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> >> > > > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> >> > > > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> >> > > > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed
> >> > > > > away.
> >
> >> > > The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt
> >> > > and
> > pants that made him a STAR.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave
> >> > > > > their l
> > ife
> >> > > > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
> >> > > A circle of one.
> >> > > > >
> >> > > > > That is the biggest lie of all.
> >> > > > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole
> >> > > > lott
> > a
> >> > > > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft
> >> > > > vertebr
> > ae
> >> > > > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine
> >> > > > implantati
> > on
> >> > > > operation ever takes effect.
> >> > > The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of
> >> > > the da
> > y and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead
> > or cut-off from his lifeline.
> >> > Watch, and I'll show you my power:
> >> > twenty-five posts in two hours,
> >> > mostly consisting of one line,
> >> > reflecting my wine broken mind.
> >> > I call myself a Dharma Bum.
> >> > My head is pounding like a drum.
> >> > I feel like I'm having a stroke.
> >> > Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...
> >> ENCORE!1! Competition for LOL of teh day is now closed-- we already
> >> have
> > a sure winner with this here!
> There once was a Douchebag named Willie
> Whose attempts at singing went shrilly
> Drunks in clown shoes
> Should lay off the booze
> Because he's a smelly hillbilly.
Cujo, you have a real gift for lilting words and rhyme! We are glad that you are not obscure, and that your work is available to the world.

On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:00:21 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 8:23:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
> > HC <yogib...@gmail.com> wrote in
> > news:0e79fdb9-f0d4-4c4e...@googlegroups.com:
> > > On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:56:06 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > >> On Tuesday, May 31, 2022 at 7:34:11 AM UTC-4, Robert Burrows wrote:
> > >> > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 7:26:32 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > >> > > On Monday, May 30, 2022 at 2:17:27 PM UTC, Cujo DeSockpuppet
> > >> > > wrote:
> > >
> > >> > > > "Edward Rochester Esq." <blackpo...@aol.com> wrote in
> > >> > > > news:39857daf-99c3-451b...@googlegroups.com:
> > >> > > > > Growing up; those cowboy and Indian days,
> > >> > > > > the imagination at its finest,
> > >> > > > > you become the lover of women, creating a lothario supreme
> > >> > > > > with childish poetry to coax the susceptible,
> > >> > > > > then the rock and country star, complete with band
> > >> > > > > as you grunt out nothing more than cat screams and all
> > >> > > > > combined
> > >
> > >> > > > > into a biography by nothing more than a dullard
> > >> > > > > looking to be recognized.
> > >> > > The pictures of him in high school show him to be at least a foot
> > >> > > tal
> > > ler than any of the other children. He was 28 at that time.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > Marriage vows become part of the imagination,
> > >> > > > > you're a daddy waiting for mommy to return from work,
> > >> > > > > you hustle her and children to various places
> > >> > > > > where roots cannot grow, your comic books become part
> > >> > > > > of the ritual, 'I am listed', 'I am somebody' the cowboy
> > >> > > > > never winning the battles, until you drop the acid for two,
> > >> > > > > then the magic appears, belief in superiority takes over
> > >> > > > > and you become whatever suits you, damn those that
> > >> > > > > think differently.
> > >> > > What is supporting one's family in comparison to being listed in
> > >> > > a pa
> > > id who's who of comics? Perhaps Will Dockery is one of "those people"
> > > about whom Ibish speaks--family values = whatever the deadbeat dad
> > > thinks they should be?
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > I will 'correct the record', my mission in life, correcting a
> > >> > > > > make-believe world: I can prove my fantasy by editing all
> > >> > > > > falsehood's that come my way, though by mistake I told all
> > >> > > > > from my own hand, life, marriage, children, jobs and then
> > >> > > > > deny as lies what was read and reproduced.
> > >> > > Who does that? Why would anyone do that, not only airing but
> > >> > > wearing
> > > his dirty laundry?
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > The pizza, the mill, the uprooting of a woman destined
> > >> > > > > for a mental institution after years of nomad existence.
> > >> > > And still he drags her around, dead these 20 or more years.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > Damage done too late to turn back, drop the booze and drugs
> > >> > > > > show them my life is more than just a dream and on it goes,
> > >> > > > > the wife runs, the family fractured long before it started by
> > >> > > > > one
> > >
> > >> > > > > who lives inside dreams?
> > >> > > Normal people generally wake up from dreams.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > Alone you lay, empty rooms with few visitors to support
> > >> > > > > your never-ending fantasy, for they too come from, but never
> > >> > > > > left
> > > ,
> > >> > > > > cowboys and Indian days, lost in time that creeps along, the
> > >> > > > > stru
> > > ggle
> > >> > > > > to become someone.
> > >> > > And the thought of a Midnight Cowboy existence, only he would
> > >> > > succeed
> > > where Joe Buck failed. Rich women WOULD pay him, he would be a star
> > > of the nightclubs, the toast of the literary society.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > Have I made up anything? Do I lie to become someone? Or are
> > >> > > > > my observations of this dullard, correct?
> > >> > > Correct.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > The world is full of Dockery's, nothing unique can be read,
> > >> > > > > just
> > >
> > >> > > > > nonsense of a make-believe world where Dockery is King
> > >> > > > > without a
> > >
> > >> > > > > Kingdom supported by a few knaves that do his bidding.
> > >> > > Two or more makes a kingdom in Columbus.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > Dockery has landed in a room of ten or so though his name
> > >> > > > > is scattered throughout the net by his own posts, the photos
> > >> > > > > the songs of a misplaced song and dance man clinging to the
> > >> > > > > pant legs of those whose cowboy suits have been long packed
> > >> > > > > away.
> > >
> > >> > > The performances of long ago, while he daily wears the same shirt
> > >> > > and
> > > pants that made him a STAR.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > Today Dockery lives in a world enabled by those that gave
> > >> > > > > their l
> > > ife
> > >> > > > > so that he could pretend to be worth their sacrifice.
> > >> > > A circle of one.
> > >> > > > >
> > >> > > > > That is the biggest lie of all.
> > >> > > > I predict the Coward of Columbus will run away. That's a whole
> > >> > > > lott
> > > a
> > >> > > > stuff the Dreckweasel will have to post-edit. Can you graft
> > >> > > > vertebr
> > > ae
> > >> > > > onto a Douchebag? I predict a mass snipping if the spine
> > >> > > > implantati
> > > on
> > >> > > > operation ever takes effect.
> > >> > > The Coward of Columbus has had to wear the mantle of poster of
> > >> > > the da
> > > y and night today, since his minion, George Sulzbach, is either dead
> > > or cut-off from his lifeline.
> > >> > Watch, and I'll show you my power:
> > >> > twenty-five posts in two hours,
> > >> > mostly consisting of one line,
> > >> > reflecting my wine broken mind.
> > >> > I call myself a Dharma Bum.
> > >> > My head is pounding like a drum.
> > >> > I feel like I'm having a stroke.
> > >> > Voodoo Boy this isn’t a joke...
> > >> ENCORE!1! Competition for LOL of teh day is now closed-- we already
> > >> have
> > > a sure winner with this here!
> > There once was a Douchebag named Willie
> > Whose attempts at singing went shrilly
> > Drunks in clown shoes
> > Should lay off the booze
> > Because he's a smelly hillbilly.
> Cujo, you have a real gift for lilting words and rhyme! We are glad that you are not obscure, and that your work is available to the world.

Yes, I concur, lilting, very, very lilting, a real gift.