Cour. You're an attack dog. That's all you'll ever be. You dragged me down into the mud so that I had to attack your family, a very handsome and good looking bunch, and your deceased brother, to get some measure of revenge. All the talk about humping your relatives, the inbred mutants, etc., was pure blather motivated by frustration. I apologize to all of them. This is all your fault. You started with me. With all the lies and distortions. The shock treatments (which I never had; that was my saintly mother, you despicable MF. Somebody fed you that one, but they got it ass backwards).

It doesn't faze you. You could give a crap about honesty and accurate reporting and savaging innocent people. It's you Cour; you're the Waymart worthy dude. Why your family just sits idly by and lets you keep this crap up says something about them too. You must be the laughing stock of that once beautiful city...I would love to engage in intense polemics with you, but it never gets past the attack and insults phase with you. You hide behind a granite wall of intense anger and vulnerability. I give up. You are what we psychologists call "passive aggressive personality disorder." They are untreatable. Therapists won't even try to help them.

Your readers laughing at ME? That sorry bunch of anonymous and scurrilous bottom feeders and sociopaths? Like monkeys howling at the moon. Do you give them bananas when they do good? They're all agreed that there's something wrong with ME? That's priceless. Did you ever consider why they never criticize YOU. Because they're well aware of that egomaniacal hot button of yours. Who would ever want to be the target of those diabolical blasts from Hell?

"Waymart State Correctional Facility. Thatʼs the place where they put the people who turn their parents into soup, people who hear voices and act on them and people who think they are Julius Caesarʽs chauffer. Those sort of people. Your sort." ....There you go projecting your rabid fantasies upon me again. You're the self-proclaimed nut. The raging "bull" we all created, remember. The one who's gonna take his anger out on society. You even told me you beat a lot of people up. I never hit anybody in my life. I'm a sweet guy. I live a perfectly enjoyable life. I have no regrets.

My "literary futility" got me published in National Review, five times. I did movie reviews for the BBC.

I enjoy adolescent beauty. I lust in my heart after it (and not only in my heart). And it's free. What's the big deal. Ever read "Death In Venice" (Thomas Mann) or "Lolita" (Nabokov)? Or maybe some erotic novels by D.H. Lawrence. The Brontes?....Re the little nympettes, I never go beyond the line. Would never dream of it.....

As an mad attack dog you have no aesthetic sense whatsoever. You are completely impervious to the whisperings of the spirit. A philistine to the very marrow. Your railing against homosexuals is a well known phenomenon. The psychoanalyst Alfred Adler called it "masculine protest." (A variation)....You have serious issues there pilgrim. And I'm too busy with other things to try to sort them out. (and I'd have to get $100 an hour).

I don't want to "fight" with you. You're way out of my league. End of story. You're incapable of making fine discriminations. You're a one trick dog. A mad attack dog.

I never stalked or harassed anybody fool. There you go making things up again. I simply defended my dignity and proud Italian honor. The scumbag call-screener at WILK in the morning, Marc Michaels, cussed me out on many occasions, without provocation. I retaliated in kind. But that never came into evidence. There will be a day of reckoning, and not just for him, believe me. This will not go unavenged. Enough said....I did not "move on to YOU"....You started with me, Alice.

I done good?...Thank you. They always said you were a smart feller. But they really meant "fart smeller."

The gay thing: It's YOU always bringing it up. I have never engaged in gay sex. And I am not critical of gays. I simply enjoy get you repressed guys out of the closet.