I‘ve got a cookout and a pool party breaking out all around me, so I’m going to keep this very brief.
Unless he decides to add something substantive to whatever it is that we do here and dispense with the same, tired, well-worn and ineffectual e-mails twisted and distorted in slightly different, demented, and self-admonishing ways…this will be Mr. David Foglietta’s very last appearance on this Web site of mine.
It’s been fun (I guess), but it’s getting very, very old. Redundant. In fact, far beyond stupid. What we’ve had here is an old, frustrated man trying to generate hits to his long-ignored Web site by locking horns with someone who--somehow--couldn’t stop attracting attention if he tried. I dunno. I don’t completely understand it. And it flummoxes me to this very day.
David, this is it for you. From here on out, it’s issues, issues, issues and some more issues. Enough with Mark Cour is being mean to me. Mark Cour was and continues to be mean to me. Mark Cour will continue to be mean to me. Mark Cour is seriously imbalanced and is always mean to me. Mark Cour is on the cusp of being certifiably insane and, still, he’s predictably mean to me. Mark Cour has a clear and demonstrated propensity for ultra violence and I think he intends to be mean to me. Enough, you pussy.
Lolita? Um, that wasn’t supposed to excite you. I think you were supposed to be disturbed by that. You know, old men stalking prepubescent girls. Kind of like what you do and then brag about it afterwards. Right? There’s some real hot chicks at the local Burger King, correct? You fu>king asshole in some serious need of a burial! Whatever.
Send your half-witted but eloquently stated response if you must, but it will not appear on these electronic pages of mine. Unless you’ve got something to offer other than “Mark Cour is mean to me,” we’re done here, champ. We’re done.
And with that said, let’s explore a couple of musical videos that still get me to jumping up and down and all about and throwing inanimate things off of the parlor wall. Yeah, real influences, the likes of which would get the good non-doctor to freely speculating about what it was in my well-documented past that would cause him to get his ass kicked in a loud and grotesque manner. Remember, I’m a jumbled mess. Sez him.
Oh, yeah, remember, if it ain’t loud…it ain’t worth a fu>k.
Flapdoodle? Video flapdoodle? In all reality, what’s the freaking difference anyway? Useless flapdoodle is needlessly useless flapdoodle no matter how the hopelessly flailing try to mistakenly characterize it.
I leave you with a music video that pretty much sums up the latter stages of Mr. Foglietta’s oft-troubling existence.
Time to enjoy myself. As if I haven’t already enjoyed myself way, way too much, right?