Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Dear Tim B
aka Ratso:
The next time you try to stalk someone on the internet, you need to be smarter than her best friend and her. Now, you may THINK that you are smarter than they are because you have some fancy schmancy job and you drive a BMW and live in a decent condo and she makes less money than you, doesn’t drive as nice a car as you, doesn’t have as nice of clothes as you and didn’t go through some “law school” and get a sparkling little diploma with a BA or MA or anything like that....but you would be sorely mistaken.
See, degrees are nothing more than a piece of paper that shows that the person either:
a) knows how to kiss teacher ass to pass
b) knows how to memorize shit
It does not prove, for one second, that the person is actually smart. And just because someone does not have all of these things doesn’t mean that person ISN’T smart. So while you’re rubbing elbows at some snot nosed cocktail party, looking down upon those you think are lesser beings than you, remember, TIM, you underestimate and it makes you the idiot.
Yes, moron, we knew who you were from the beginning. Shall I show you the emails to prove it? We waited to see what else you would say. How long would you keep up your facade? How fucking crazy would you be?
Here’s a newsflash: You’re a fucking lunatic. Who the hell stalks someone on the internet? Who does that? Oh, and also? I happen to know you did it back in 2007 as well. When you read my site no less than 20 times a day. Shall I pass on the emails that have all the stat logs copied/pasted in them to Kristine? Back then, you were fit to just watch. You said nothing. You slipped up at one point but you never commented on the site, thinking you were so clever.
Then, for some fucked up reason, you decided to start pretending to be a random guest. And you started commenting. And Kristine was on to you from the START. And I started looking you up. And sure as shit, I found you. I know you don’t work for the company you worked for when I knew you. I know you work for another. (Watchoo talkin’ ‘bout Willis)
Go. Away. Or I can start revealing a lot of shit that will get you in to all kinds of trouble. Not here, I’m better than that. You want to talk about “debt”? You want to go there? You will know what it is if you don’t stop fucking with me. Just a few phone calls and a few letters written and things start getting investigated.
Loser.
