How can we make this Christmas a nice Christmas for an Ultracrepidarian

Once more, there is a trend of Lit’s bullshitting, arthritic misogynist popping up in relationship themed threads. Prolly feeling the sharp sting of loneliness around the holidays.

In the spirit of Christmas and this season of giving, I encourage the Lit populace to perhaps help our despondent curmudgeon cope with his obvious struggles with loneliness, bitter depression, and his hostile attitudes towards women.

This holiday season, find it in yourselves to give - a little patience, encouragement, maybe a kind word or two. Think about ol’ Jimmy, sat at his wee table-for-one, with his cup of pine-cone moonshine, and serving of cold numbles before him, served up in a cracked, thrift-store ashtray.

Remember, it prolly isn’t easy for the ol’ codger, especially with the wheels and cogs of his swollen hand and finger joints all seized and busticated, beyond the reaches of the most potent rubefacients, robbing him of the meager, onanistic pleasure he usta afford himself.

Poor, poor, sad Jimmy.



But perhaps we can make a difference during this season of giving, a difference in this pathetic man’s miserable life that may calm the misogynistic hurricane raging in his addled brain. Help him forget briefly - until the Alzheimer’s disease fully takes hold - the unresolved abandonment and neglect issues he struggles with daily, about his mother.


I thought perhaps he could be included in some sort of Secret Santa, expose him to the warmth of inclusion and camaraderie, and the spirit of giving. But then I remembered that all he’s really capable of giving is regurgitated, nonsense anecdotes, or pictures of tomatoes.


Then I thought perhaps we could pass the jar around, everyone throw in whatever pocket change you could spare.


With a one time donation, equal to the cost of four squares of toilet paper, you could help us send ol’ Jimmie a trailer park holiday meal.





For the price of package mock chicken loaf, we could provide him some notebooks, where he could journal, organize his lies and bullshit stories, and help him remember if he is happily married, or banging a stable of dampy-panty bitches, lured by a steak dinner, his proclivity for dropping the N-Word, and the promise of a mustache ride in the single-wide.





Any other suggestions are welcomed. Surely there is some small gesture we could do to help make this Christmas, likely the last this curmudgeonly Floridian will see, a special one.



Let’s pull off a Christmas miracle and put a sparkle back in ol’ Jimmy’s mustache.

this is the bestest thread ever.

ed

Wow. I've only been here a short while and I know exactly who you're referring to.

i kinda wish this thread could be stickied.

ed

Ed, is that a clever euphemism?

silverwhisper said:

i kinda wish this thread could be stickied.

ed

Click to expand...

silverwhisper said:

i kinda wish this thread could be stickied.

ed

Click to expand...

You're welcome.

I thought these forums would teach me new tricks ... Instead, I'm looking up words like "Ultracrepidarian."

Didn't come here for THAT kind of edjeecashun.

If that's Jim Bob in the pic, I hate to say it, but he does have a good pair of legs. Not too bad for a codger.

Hey Em, when you get a chance, think you can find me some new Minnie avs?

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Emerson40 said:

Any other suggestions are welcomed. Surely there is some small gesture we could do[/URL] to help make this Christmas, likely the last this curmudgeonly Floridian will see, a special one.

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Wrong side of the country.

Emerson40 said:

Once more, there is a trend of Lit’s bullshitting, arthritic misogynist popping up in relationship themed threads. Prolly feeling the sharp sting of loneliness around the holidays.

In the spirit of Christmas and this season of giving, I encourage the Lit populace to perhaps help our despondent curmudgeon cope with his obvious struggles with loneliness, bitter depression, and his hostile attitudes towards women.

This holiday season, find it in yourselves to give - a little patience, encouragement, maybe a kind word or two. Think about ol’ Jimmy, sat at his wee table-for-one, with his cup of pine-cone moonshine, and serving of cold numbles before him, served up in a cracked, thrift-store ashtray.

Remember, it prolly isn’t easy for the ol’ codger, especially with the wheels and cogs of his swollen hand and finger joints all seized and busticated, beyond the reaches of the most potent rubefacients, robbing him of the meager, onanistic pleasure he usta afford himself.

Poor, poor, sad Jimmy.



But perhaps we can make a difference during this season of giving, a difference in this pathetic man’s miserable life that may calm the misogynistic hurricane raging in his addled brain. Help him forget briefly - until the Alzheimer’s disease fully takes hold - the unresolved abandonment and neglect issues he struggles with daily, about his mother.


I thought perhaps he could be included in some sort of Secret Santa, expose him to the warmth of inclusion and camaraderie, and the spirit of giving. But then I remembered that all he’s really capable of giving is regurgitated, nonsense anecdotes, or pictures of tomatoes.


Then I thought perhaps we could pass the jar around, everyone throw in whatever pocket change you could spare.


With a one time donation, equal to the cost of four squares of toilet paper, you could help us send ol’ Jimmie a trailer park holiday meal.

For the price of package mock chicken loaf, we could provide him some notebooks, where he could journal, organize his lies and bullshit stories, and help him remember if he is happily married, or banging a stable of dampy-panty bitches, lured by a steak dinner, his proclivity for dropping the N-Word, and the promise of a mustache ride in the single-wide.

Any other suggestions are welcomed. Surely there is some small gesture we could do to help make this Christmas, likely the last this curmudgeonly Floridian will see, a special one.



Let’s pull off a Christmas miracle and put a sparkle back in ol’ Jimmy’s mustache.

Click to expand...

As you can see your posts aren't must reading for me. I'll add it to my New Years Resolutions.

Apparently, a misogynistic, bullshitting excrement stain who cloaks himself in the thin, tattered sweater of retired therapist - the accreditation of which is “prolly” suspect at best, but most likely as fictive as everything else it types - is still just a misogynistic excrement stain.

This is what the citizens of Lit have determined, if one were to go by the turnout to this wee campaign to bring a smidgen of Festivus to Lit’s Oscar the Grouch.

I would like to thank all of you who, in the spirit of the season, contributed gifts. Both of you were magnanimous in your giving and I will of course honour your requests for anonymity.
I would though, like to share with all, the creative and personal nature of your gifts.

The first gift sent in came almost immediately after the thread was posted.
A lovely snowman, all the more impressive as it clearly came from the heart, made by hand, with a keen eye for detail. First impressions here at Lit’s Festivus HQ were “why would someone send Frosty in blackface to a cantankerous racist?” But upon closer inspection we found it was constructed primarily of various manures and natural... fertilizers.
Clearly, we thought, this was something meant for the patch of dirt where Jimmy grows his maters. This theory was challenged though, by the enclosed card that provided instructions, rather concisely, as to where Jim should place his Feces The Snowman.





The second gift was also handmade, the skills used in its creation only surpassed by the special consideration and thought used to personalize it. It’s a one-of-a-kind treat that Jim’s parole officer says, looks just like the old Johnson home, back before the dark days, made up backgrounds, and restraining orders.
We figured the embedded razor blades and push pins were present in the ginger cookie to support the structure. The USPS thought otherwise, and destroyed the package before it reached the intended recipient.







To help better understand ol’ Jim the Troglodyte, look up ‘Illusory Superiority”. The guy is the textbook example of this, and you’ll quickly see why nobody considers what this old fart says as anything more than the metamucil-fueled ramblings of a fool, encumbered with an atrophied brain, irreparably addled by a lifetime of drinking pickle juice and the close proximity of his single-wide to overhead power lines.
God bless him.






The recent internet crush he has on Firebreeze has also not gone unnoticed. Like a dedicated lap dog, he shows up shortly after she posts, trying to pull on her pigtails. More pitiful than cute, and kind of a hallmark feature of the illusory superiority mentioned above, but what should one expect from such a wretched, lonely fabulist. Sad really.




Maybe next year we can try to pull off a Christmas miracle of a more... attainable sort. Perhaps we could encourage North and South Korea to become one, united land as it once was. Or we could find the funding (Kickstarter anyone) for Mr G to produce his G-Spot late-night infomercial.

Happy New Year to ALL!