It’s been three weeks since we checked in on the antics of Bill Schmalfeldt, the brain-damaged troll whose harassment of Brett Kimberlin’s enemies led him into an bizarre obsession with John Hoge, my co-defendant in the perjuring bomber’s vexatious lawsuits.
Read that sentence again, please.
If you’re a regular reader, it all makes sense, but if you were somebody just randomly browsing the Web and encountering this for the first time, you would have some questions: Who is Brett Kimberlin? Why do I call him “the perjuring bomber”? Why do I call Bill Schmalfeldt a “brain-damaged troll”? Who is John Hoge, and why are both of us being sued by Kimberlin? It’s a long, crazy story that I’ve been involved in for two years now, and it is important to acknowledge up front that the latest weirdness by Bill Schmalfeldt is occurring way off there on the obscure online fringes of Weirdoville.
It’s not BREAKING URGENT NEWS, in other words, and the essential triviality of Bill Schmalfeldt is something I understand, even if Bill doesn’t understand it himself. OK, so . . .
Bill Schmalfeldt has been self-publishing “books” about his demented misadventures. While I haven’t paid any attention to these, I think Bill is basically collecting up his own blog posts into “books,” which would probably be of interest to no one, except perhaps to a Maryland court — Exhibit A, as it were, in the case to have Bill Schmalfeldt permanently committed to a state psychiatric hospital. Let’s let Bill tell you what has resulted from his kooky publishing venture:
They killed “My Slow, Journalistic Death.” Because I used a sentence from WJJ Hoge’s blog.
They killed “Intentional Infliction”. Because “Paul Krendler” claims he sold the rights to a blog to WJJ Hoge.
They killed “WJJ Hoggy Tells You How to Smack Around a Handicapped Liberal (and get away with it).” Because Robin Wesley Causey claimed a copyright he doesn’t own.
And now, “Cyber Ins@nity” has been tossed off of the lists at Lulu.com. They won’t tell me why, except that someone claims it “invades” his or her privacy.
In other words, Bill Schmalfeldt’s book publishing career has been about as successful as his “journalism” career, which is to say it’s been a laughable failure, because Bill is a brain-damaged troll.
However, because he is unable to acknowledge his ineptitude or to take responsibility for his own failures, every time Bill Schmalfeldt fails, he blames his enemies, demonizing them as scapegoats, and then doubling down on failure. Later, rinse, repeat.
(The nice nurses at the psych ward are nodding in agreement.)
Bill has inflated the importance of his own (self-inflicted) problems and blames these problems on Hoge and on various commenters at Hoge’s blog — Paul Krendler, Robin Causey, etc. — and has taken to “doxing” these people (publishing their personal information) and, by using such materials in his “books,” Schmalfeldt has stirred up trouble for himself with these online self-publishing services.
Who is Nancy Gilly? Is she indeed @LibraryGryffon? And why would anyone other than Bill Schmalfeldt care? Bill’s complaints are as nonsensical as his helpless obsession with the “Wonderful Wizard of Hoge,” but this is how pathology becomes identity: Believing himself to be a victim, Schmalfeldt makes his victimhood the basis of his identity, and then interprets everything in that context. But because his victimhood is delusional — his misfortunes are in fact the result of his own actions — his self-created persona of “Victim Bill” is simply a symptomatic manifestation of his derangement.
In the latest episode, Bill Schmalfeldt went chasing after the identity of that elusive phantom “pemason54,” to no avail:
What does Bill Schmalfeldt know about “Honest People”? Never mind.
Hoge comments on the comic value of Schmalfeldt’s “faildox”:
Portland, Oregon, huh?
Of course, I have the IP addresses of all the comments that have come in under the name pemason54. The IPs trace to three sets of locations. Two are in adjacent towns in a state on the east coast. The third traces to various locations east of the Mississippi River belonging to a mobile phone carrier.
Here’s a brilliant satire: “Because, let’s face it — I couldn’t be more of a dick if my feet were testicles.”
