The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

I don’t really participate in online forums of any kind anymore since I was savagely brigaded many years ago.

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

All I will say, is that people of various ideological perspectives literally are unable to tolerate any kind of disagreement whatsoever and they apparently are highly organized so that they can brigade you and have you downvoted to such a degree that you literally disappear from whatever social forum of which you were a member.

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

To the people who blocked me on Quikipedia and brigaded me in Queddit and defecated on me on Quoat: Eat dirty, filthy, steaming, bacteria stoked dog 🐕 shit 💩 and die rotting in shit covered hellfire of flaming shit.

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

The name of the restaraunt was the “Hörst Wessel, Waffen Schutstaffel, Geheimstatspolizei, Israel 🇮🇱 is sexy-bad, death 💀 to Zionist (Pronounced Zoy-Yo!-Nist) entity, National Socialiste Deutsche Arbeiter Partei Restaurant und Kaffe Haus.”

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

I said in the online Queddit forum: “maybe a restaurant dedicated to the final solution for the Zscevische Problem might not be a good thing.”

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

I was immediately brigaded with 63,235 downvotes in 3 seconds.

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

I received comments like this: “You rotten shitty, Trumpy, fascist sexist, islamophobic, transphobic, rapey, Zionist, hater, Teufel! Eat dirty doggy 🐕 doo 💩 you shit-covered *hot* oppressive anus! How dare you not want to be holocausted!”

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy

Signed Angry 😤 Online Social Justice Warrior Guy P.S. PM me! Smoochy! 💋 Smoochy! You big brute!

The still blocked Botendaddy

The still blocked Botendaddy





Romantick Olde English Poetry

Elegy on an Olde Parish Outhouse

Some come here to sytte and thinke 🤔

Some come here to shytte 💩 … and stinke

But I, yea I, come here to scratche yon balles

and reade the bulle 🐄 shytte 💩 on the walls…

and reade the bullshytte on the walls.

Milton 1668

ancient arch architecture art
Photo by Pixabay on

Ode to a fetydde Colon

Here I sytte… broken 💔 hearted,

tried to shytte 💩

yet only fartede

I left and thought 💭 I’d plye my chance

tried to farte 💨  and shytte 💩 my pants 👖

Keats 1892

lightning and gray clouds
Photo by Andre Furtado on

Contemplating an Ancient Conche Shelle 🐚’

Those who scrybe ✏️ on shytte house 🏡  🚽 walls

May rolle their shytte in little balls 🏀

and those who reade yon words of wytte

can eat said fetid balls of shytte.

Shelley 1788

green trees and house
Photo by Artem Bali on


Herbert Morrison and the True Story of the Hindenburg Disaster

May 1, 1937 Radio 📻 Station 🚉 Chicago, Illinois

J. Jonas Jameson – news director :

“Morrison! There’s a goddamned  depression on. We don’t have the cash 💵 flow to support a bunch of stupid, dopey, dummy idiots like you and your moronic sidekick sound engineer, Charlie the dope. Before I fire 🔥 you two imbeciles, I’m giving you the shittiest assignment possible. You’re going to New Jersey on a third class baggage 🧳 train 🚂 car with the goats 🐐 manure and derelicts. You’re going to watch that stupid Nazi airship come in and basically just test the sound and camera 🎥 equipment because no-one cares. Then, I can show how useless you two bastards are and fire you both!”

Morrisson looks at his sound engineer, then they both nod.

They go to the train station with their equipment. They get on the baggage car next to the shit-covered goats 🐐 ‘naaaaah’ ‘NAAAAAH’

”Wow Charlie, this is the end of the road. Jameson’s an asshole and our station is a bunch of shitty cheapskates.”

”Yeah, Herb 🌿 unless a World 🌎 War breaks out, we’ll never work again.”

May 6th, Lakehurst New Jersey:

”Oh the humanity!”

sky space telescope universe
Photo by Pixabay on

Now considered to be the single greatest radio broadcast in American history.

Chicago Radio 📻 Station 🚉 May 10th, 1937.

Top Hat 🎩 big boss radio station owner man:

“Jameson, you fucking idiot! You shithead! You said these guys were fucking morons and they just lined my pockets with millions 💰 MILLIONS! 🌿 Herb, Charlie! You’re both promoted! Jameson! You asswipe! You’re demoted to cleaning 🧹 the filthy bacteria-stoked rancid encrusted shit 💩 off the radio station 🚉 toilets 🚽!”

Botendaddy Spotted in Studebaker on Lincoln Highway at Esso Station Roaking Lucky Strikes. State Police issue Shoot to Kill Orders

Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Dateline Gettysburg, December 8, 1949.

black cannon in front of the brick wall building
Photo by musicFactory lehmannsound on

Federal Agents, Pa Department of Agriculture and Pa State Police 👮 are in pursuit of a lime green 1947 Studebaker with known pinko, commie, pervo (Pronounced poi-veaux), subversive (Pronounced sub-voi-sieve) Botendaddy at the wheel.

american car auto automobile automotive
Photo by Pixabay on

He is described as a white male Caucasian with pale complexion and white skin, aka Bobo, aka Mr. Charlie, aka The Man, aka Ofey, aka honky, aka The Devil 😈.

Approach with caution. Do not take him alive!

”That was the tattered old headline of the Chambersburg Intelligencer and Sunday News Register. Defunct some thirty years now. It’s your goddamned photo you Communist scumbag! Traitor! Code name Yuri! Do you think the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture ever closes an unsolved case of Commie Subversion by enemies of the Commonwealth! I am F. Pearson Luzerne, V. You shitty Dorian Gray! You Devil’s spawn! You never age! My grandfather pursued you and my father after him!”

I was hold up in a burning building as the Zoganian agents of the Shi’taanic Federal Gummint’ closed in. I was clutching my gun and my bible as the flames grew higher.

The Federal, State and local law enforcement agencies were firing thousands of rounds, attacking the compound with fire tanks and snipers.

”You’ll never get me, you shit-covered shitty flatfoots! You shit-soaked coppers! Yeah, yeah! That’s the ticket 🎫! You dirty rats 🐀! You killed my brother!”

By morning the compound was ashes. A single man in a fedora 🎩 walked around picking at the rubble with an antique cane with the two horse 🐎 symbol of the Ancient Free and Accepted Commonwealth of the beloved Quaker The Rt. Hon. Wm. Penn. It was F. Pearson Luzerne the V!

dry animal gift dangerous
Photo by Pixabay on

Since the Gallianist, Bolshevik Wobblies of the Fifthteenth Internationale of the Knights of Labor Molly Maguires in 1902 (Pronounced 19 aught twai-ee!), The F. Pearson Luzerne the 1st (Pronounced Wunth) have pursued the ageless Botendaddy, 3,000 years old! Kept alive by an evil Scarab Beetle! In the name of savage Kaph! I conjure thee! Yog Sothoth!

”I’ll get him! That shit-covered pinko! And his little dog too!”


Peace be the Botendaddy


Extra: Dateline Markleysburg – Court of Quarter Sessions Orders Botendaddy Closed, President Truman Shocked!

PER CURIAM by motion of the Pa. Department of Agriculture, F. Pearson Luzerne, commanding, This 7th Day of December 1949, Sitting at Somerset, County of Somerset, Free and Accepted Commonwealth of Pennsylvania of the Good Quaker, under the guidance of Jesus Christ, official and legally authorized deity of Said Commonwealth, by order of the Court of Quarter Sessions, Said newspaper 📰 pamphleteer and clear channel AM Radio Station 🚉 operating at a power of 10,000 Megawatts and a frequency of 1,706 KHz on your radio dial is hereby enjoined from all subversive activity until a hearing is held on charges of prurient content promoting godless Bolshevism, Bourgeois Homosexualism, poor physical culture and infecting the minds of American youth with commie pervo pinko subversive content. Botendaddy to be held in indefinite secret detention without bail and to wit, said Botendaddy, to be treated humanely with uncontrolled beatings, torture and violent interrogation as permitted by the protections of the Article XII of the Constitution of Said ancient Commonwealth.


Brand-New Kodak Brownie Hawkeye Spy Canera seized in the Botendaddy (Pronounced Traitor) Raids, 1949


Nissim Black performs in Homestead, PA World’s only Black Orthodox Jewish Rapper

“OK there might be some Jewish-African soul brothers or sisters out there who rap. But what do I know, I’m I’m like the worst Jew ever.”

I Shroake.

Extreme Hipster Homestead Urban Pic’

”How is that even defined?”

Shroake the Stalker.

”OK. So You occasionally go to Temple, like on High Holy Days. You’ve never been to Israel 🇮🇱. You can’t speak Hebrew. You fake reading in Temple. You don’t know any of the holidays. You don’t keep Kosher. You don’t know any of the ceremonies or rules. You don’t look Jewish. You are too tall, fair haired and blue-eyed. You sort of know the Bible stories. Other Jews think you are an idiot. You joined a Protestant fraternity in College and you spent most of your life in the Army. You eat cow 🐄 tongue 👅 but not chopped liver.”

Nissim spits wicked flow at Hanukkah 🕎 celebrations under the bridge 🌉 

I Shroake as we awaited Nissim Black.

”Look at the Orthodox. They have their own thing. They are real. Authentic. I’m like a space alien 👽 to them. The Boten-daughter is the same way I am. We don’t blend here.”

Shroakified I-self (Third nominative declension of myself)

”I love these people. Look at the positive energy. So you are rejected 🙅‍♂️ by the so-called white man and from Jews as well?”

Shraike the Stalker.

Lighting the Menorah

“You spent too much time among the white man and you have adopted their ways. You were corrupted by the white devil 😈 the white Satan, the man, el hombre aka Mr. Charlie aka Bobo aka Ofay.”

Said Big Chief Guyasuta.

”Chief, you’re a moron.”

Said Devon.

The crowd loved Nissim. He came right to the audience with beats, rhymes and flows. The kids were going crazy. They had one of their own as a rapper. He seemed almost startled by the warm, bordering on frenzied reception from the Pittsburgh region.

”Your people are awesome. I love their energy. It’s a real community. Here we are under a machine-age bridge 🌉 in Old Homestead celebrating the Festival of Lights.”

Said Devon.

”Same here. Thanks for inviting us down.”

Nodded the Chief.

”Our people.”

Said I-self and the Boten-daughter simultaneously.

”We’re not even sure who we really are.”

I muttered.

”But everyone else knows who we are.”

Stated the Boten-daughter.

”Hot cocoa with whipped?”

Peace be the Botendaddy





Movies I like that the critics hated

“Streets of Fire” The Michael Paré face slapping scene is one of the best Mano a Mano scènes in all of cinema. The dialog is fantastic. Ellen Aim’s Meatloaf style songs are horrible. Ry Cooder and the Blaster’s songs are awesome. Amy Madigan, Debbie Van Valkenburgh and Rick Moranis are perfect. And the weird, evil, sexually ambiguous Willem Dafoe is a classic film bad guy. The two best face offs are Cody vs Raven (Dafoe) and The soldier (Madigan) vs Billy Fish (Rick Moranis). Possibly one of the best cult films  🎥 ever. Should have won an academy award for cinematography and musical score. If you don’t like this film 🎞 it’s because you are a stupid, idiotic douchebag.

”Almost Heroes.” Period piece. Pacing was a little too slow. The classic scene where Edwards played by Matthew Perry tried to teach teacher Hunt played by Chris Farley is worth the price of admission. I also enjoy the Eagle 🦅 scenes and most of all the mentally ill Indian face-slapping scene was awesome. One of the worst rated films of all time. But I love it.

”The Film-Flam Man.” George C. Scott and Michale Sarrazin. AWOL purposeless young soldier meets up with Crazy old man. “Onky girl I ever met with purpose eyes” Part of the Neo-South genre of the 1960’s like Cool Hand Luke. Brilliant tragically underrated film with an excellent musical score. Kind of the progenitor to 1974’s “The Sting.” If you don’t like this film, it’s because you are stupid.

”Wagon’s East.” An incredibly bad movie. How can you not love John McGinley’s gay bookseller and secret expert gunfighter? Richard Lewis as the malpracticing Civil War Doctor. The Indians who desperately want them to leave and of course John Candy 🍬 as the failed back-country guide?

”Bring me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.” Warren Oates. Fantastic film. It was actually part of the Mexican film genre. It’s crude and edgy and you can see vestiges of it in later Rodriguez and Tarantino films. If you don’t like this film, you are an incredibly stupid, dopey Alfred E. Newman-face dummy.

”Road House” Possibly the greatest bad movie of all time. Ben Gazzarra as the completely psychotic bad guy, Sam Elliott as Dalton’s sidekick. The famous “speech” “I want you to be nice!” “What if someone calls my mama a whore?” “Is she?” The epic battle. The goofy 😋 sidekick: “A baar 🐻 fell on me!



The Year Botendaddy Ruined Christmas

I didn’t mean to ruin Christmas, I mean it didn’t start out like that. It was my intention to visit my brother at his College town. He was the boarder of a rather eccentric Madame G. who kept a house at 1 Hickory Boulevard.

berry branch christmas christmas balls
Photo by Negative Space on

The House was one of many old stately homes along a beautiful tree-lined street across from the old Protestant cemetery.

Due to a sudden snow squall that blocked the tracks of the Pennsylvania Railroad at McKeesport, my arrival in the town was substantially delayed. I arrived so late that only by happenstance or divine providence some would say, that I was able to catch the last trolley of the early morning, such that I only arrived at Madame G’s boarding house at 3 O’ Clock in the AM on Christmas Eve of the Year 1946.

I suppose that this is where the trouble started. My brother had to sneak me in to his room. There being only a single bed, it was incumbent upon me to sleep on the floor. Unfortunately as it were, it was in fact my brother’s attempt to search for a blanket on my behalf that caused the ferrets to get out.

paper bags near wall
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Who keeps such creatures as pets? Let alone in a house occupied by diverse gentlemen and ladies.

The first shriek was heard from a Mlle DeBlois, an Architect’s assistant who lived on the third floor just below where the ferrets got out.

You can imagine the commotion in the deepest hour of sleep when the young lady, her hair in curlers, wearing the most unbecoming matronly housecoat, began running down the stairs in a panic, all the while screaming for Madame G.

brown otter near green grass
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I cautioned my brother to not admit that he had been the cause of releasing the ferrets, or he might be evicted from his room, in the dead of winter, no less. The fact that I had, by my unannounced arrival, caused him to seek the blanket that launched the entire chain of events, notwithstanding.

The tumult increased as the ferrets next invaded the bedchamber of the elderly Veteran Monsieur Bartholomew MacGillicuddy who was heard to shout: “It’s the god-forsaken trench rats! They’re all over me!” He raced into the hallway brandishing a mop which he claimed to be a Cavalry Sabre.

My brother and I got up and sat on chairs in his room while we pondered our next move. We shared a glass of brandy and we smoked the stale cigarettes that I had purchased during the long wait at the McKeesport Train Station.

It became obvious that the ferrets had progressed to the second floor when we heard a Monsieur Huang a graduate student from Canton China, a Mlle Korazov, a refugee from Ukraine and a Reverend Thomas, a young Episcopalian priest, join the angry throng as they too were chased from their rooms by the relentless ferrets.

My brother and I finally gathered the courage to emerge from his room and we met up with the group in the great room on the ground floor.

Beneath the tattered Elk trophy, next to the Christmas Tree, by the fireplace, I as a recently returned Veteran in my own right, announced the battle plan to recover the ferrets, who by Madame G’s account, numbered eight.

We used a wicker clothing hamper and the Cavalry broom to scour the first floor and then the second to gather the ferrets one by one until we cornered the last of the eight vermin in the ancient third floor bathtub.

The entire venture was completed by 7:00AM sharp with the ferrets safely locked away in the attic.

Madame G assembled all the residents in the great room at the conclusion of the escapade. She only asked one question: “Who opened the attic door?”

I raised my hand, but my brother being the painfully honest sort said: “I was getting a blanket for my brother.”

“Who the hell is that and what the hell is he doing in my house without my permission?”

Asked Madame G.

I looked around at the carefully stacked Christmas presents and the beautifully labeled stockings and the sad faces of her teenaged children when I realized the gravity of my offense.

”You ruined Christmas!”

Screamed the red-faced Madame G. The entire populace, in various states of disturbed sleep stared at me in rapt attention as if waiting for a valid explanation.

”Wait… no never mind.”

I said.

”Get him the hell out of here if you want to keep your room!”

She yelled at my brother.

I quietly packed my belongings, bid my brother adieu, all the while apologizing to Madame G. and the other angry tenants. Only Monsieur Huang seemed to accept my apology, in a hastily arranged exchange for a pack of stale cigarettes.

I walked out into the snowy morning only to return to the train station and then find a room at a flophouse in town. I slept till at least noon, when I awoke with a start, realizing that it was Christmas Day and that I had in fact, ruined Christmas.