A Brain-Crippled Jew

(2)

My other 'relationship' (the one with the sicko Jewish queer Walter Gerash) has meanwhile taken a drastic downward turn. I had been playing a lot of chess online at Comcast. I was kicking lots of ass. But I kept noticing a consistent pattern: a new player (not a 'visitor') would show up often. The Player was always rated 1200 (the rating of a new player). That player would play the same defense (I usually play the white side because white has the advantage of the first move) as most previous 1200-rated named players. This went on for several weeks. The Player was what I call, 'a fish.' That is to say, The Player was a much inferior player and I would always win. Most 'visitors' (also innitially rated at 1200) were either very good or very bad, but the 1200-rated named players mostly seemed to be fish. I eventually began to suspect that Walter Gerash, obsessed stalker, was actually starring in those various fishy roles of named 1200 players.

If you have never suffered the attentions of an insane stalker then you might be tempted to assume that such a scenerio would be quite pleasurable to the superior player: he gets to humiliate the insane stalker time and again ad nauseum, enjoying every minute of that more or less grotesque interaction. But you would be dead wrong about that. On the contrary, it is the stalker who is doing the enjoying. True, he is defeated time and again. But this humiliation is more than compensated for by the interaction. The stalker longs for interaction. Interaction equals participation - participation in the life of the beloved (or behated - it's all the same to those unfortunate people who are obsessed).

So I stopped playing chess and began playing C-III again. That was last Sunday. Beginning Monday the gas attacks increased to a violent level (and actually peaked monday) and the RF attacks at night also increased in duration such that during the entire week I was severely sleep-deprived. I actually got enough sleep last 'night,' but of those 15 hours I spent in bed at least 8 of them were done enduring the nightly torture of RF. In fact, my log for Wednesday night shows that I was attacked with RF from 0420 until 1015!

I have no doubt that these attacks were the emotional response of a brain-crippled Jew who felt rejected over the chess board by his half-Irish 'soul mate.' Yeeesh.

A Woman's Work...

(1)

I am pleased to report that our relationship has recovered to the 'don't ask - don't tell' level. We both ignore the elephant sitting between us and thereby manage an amicable relationship most of the time. Thus we were (thump) restored to our 'normal' state of affairs a day or two or three after the spat which spawned the previous post.

Thanksgiving was something of a minor disaster, however, as Kootch rebelled against her ancient role of 'Thanksgiving Dinner Cooker.' Traditionally, I defrost the frozen turkey by bathing it in water (in the kitchen sink) overnight since I am the one who stays up late and Kootch is the one who goes to bed early. (It follows of course, from this, that Kootch wakes up early while I sleep late.) I also purchase said turkey. Kootch takes command of the situation when she wakes up around 0400. She does all the preparations, then cooks the turkey, potatoes, etc. This takes her at least several hours, on and off. Dinner is usually ready around 1500. I carve the turkey on one side, then we eat. Kootch cleans up most of the mess.

So lessee... I buy..., defrost..., eat... Hmm. Maybe she has a point.

Are You Up to That?

(3)

So... I have decided to depart from this 'marriage.' It is true that I was unfaithful to Kootch. That is true. But I was only sexually unfaithful. I was only minimally emotionally unfaithful (tap). But Kootch is grossly unfaithful to me in every sense. And she has been unfaithful to me for many years. Our marriage is over (boom). I will now seek a divorce. I am sure that Kootch and I will be able to arrive at a mutually satisfactory settlement. It is over. All over.

This leaves me... available!

Are you an old lady looking for an appropriate male pardner (tap)? Yes? Then today is your lucky day. You only need to own your place of residence free and clear, and be willing to accept a new tenant. I can pay. I only need one room. Small room. If you have a high speed cable connection then that is a big plus. We can get to know each other, slowly, as owner and tenant. And if it doesn't work out, then I can move on. No hurry.

We have so little time: Jesus is on the way.

I imagine you living in Oklahoma or Kansas or Nebraska... I see us in a small town. Small tolerant town. I see your town's primary spiritual (tap) description as, 'Awake.' I would love to live with a glorious old woman in a small Western town away from everywhere, and especially away the pathetic Jewish queer, Walter Gerash.

Are you up to that?

No Chance

(2)

Not long after I wrote that I decided to mount a counterattack against the Jews and queers who were tormenting me. Easier said than done!

I began by cate(tap)gorizing all of the participants: Gerash and friends; The Law; my wife Kootch; Kootch's 'friends;' Kaiser Permanente; the neighbors. I fashioned a possible approach to the problem: convince the ACSD to investigate my claims of being stalked.

It seemed to me that if I could convince the ACSD that a crime was being committed, then they would investigate. Possibly they would find something. (But probably not - they are such fucking idiots!)

Then I thought up the idea of using Kaiser Permanente as an ally: if only some doctor at Kaiser would be willing to suggest to the ACSD that a crime was being committed against me, then maybe I had a chance. I formulated the idea of getting my current 'primary care physician,' Anna Kosyleon, to join my 'coalition of self defense against Jewish Faggotry.'

I reasoned thus: were I to complain to the ACSD alone, then they would send me to Kaiser (psychology unit). Were I to complain to Kaiser Psychology, they would send me to ACSD. What I needed was allies in both camps. None were available.

Then there was Kootch, my wife, who has known me for almost fifty years. But Kootch is convinced that I am crazy! Oh, joy.

Psychologists and psychiatrists might babel to the police hither and thither. The Courts might be unable to decide: psychology is a difficult science. But the judgement of a spouse of almost 50 years is virtually irrefutable: I had no chance whatsoever.

None at all.

The Stalker Game

(1)

RF continues to be the favored form of attack nowadays, and sleep deprivation became a problem again this week. The result is pure fucking rage. So I am now in the process of trying to come up with a plan to stop these attacks. (As I type this I am being irradiated with RF: the skin on my scrotum feels like it is crawling. This morning from 0700 to 0800 I endured an hour of whole-body 'pricking RF' before giving up trying to sleep.)

Rage is not the only problem: Depression is another problem. One tends to become depressed when faced with what seems to be an unsolvable situation. The result is 'avoidance behavior' in the form of a more pleasant activity, a video game, for example. Or watching TV. Or writing a blog. One hates the idea of being forced to spend valuable time 'interacting' with an insane stalker - participating, so to say, in the stalker's own 'game:'

'It is an invariable principle of all play, finite and infinite, that whoever plays, plays freely. Whoever must play cannot play.' (Quoted from Finite and Infinite Games, by James P. Carse.)

And this 'game' is by no means a fair game: the stalker has many allies both in the form of willing tribe members (Jews, queers, etc.) and paid surrogates, all of whom presumably enjoy their roles as members of an evil team, playing a game they cannot possibly lose, against one man.

Me. Little ole me.