Now, 102 Uses For a Dead Cat

      Those of you who follow novelty humor books may recall a particularly sick one that came out 34 years ago entitled 101 Uses For a Dead Cat. Aside from it being symptomatic of the sick, stupid shit grabbed up by brain-dead literary agents in their constant quest to discard diamonds while polishing turds, it seems my stalker Dave Chadwick of Ogden, Utah has found a 102nd use for a dead cat.
     Late last night before going to bed, I did an IP Address lookup on Welcome Back to Pottersville's stats checker in a vain, misguided hope that Chadwick's constant obsession with me had abated. After all, he'd "only" been there at least 15 times on Xmas Eve and showed some serious restraint by showing up but twice on Xmas Day.
     The two screengrabs below show just how naive and misinformed I was.
     The bottom one from earlier last evening is especially alarming. He began doing searches on P'ville for "Sweetie", our dead cat who'd died painfully of cancer over six years ago. Note he'd also done one for the word "burial".
     I cannot fathom why this creepozoid is so obsessed with me and everything I write but what kind of a sick cunt mines information about someone's dead cat and what could he possibly have to gain by it?
     Well, when I saw that, I took the screengrabs then went to sleep. On awaking this morning, I decided to do something I've been turning around in my head for a long time: I decided to delete a big vital chunk of Pottersville's source code in the template after copying, pasting and saving the entire thing in a separate Word file then went dark.

     Yes, this is what "Sugar Ray Dodge" has reduced me to. This cripples my ability to make any money from Paypal and forcing me to flee, for the time being, to an old safe house of a blog I'd abandoned four and a half years ago (and, yes, he'd been here at least once, according to what I've found. Trust me, this guy's obsession knows no bounds).
     No doubt, on realizing Pottersville's nothing but a white page, this scumbag Dave Chadwick will construe this as a win, that he'd successfully hounded yet another troll off the internet through his fine, valiant, dedicated efforts. As the truly insane often are, this piece of shit has absolutely no self awareness, no sense of proportion or any inkling as to what constitutes normal, or abnormal, behavior. Fueling this obsession are his little legion of fanboys who not only encourage this behavior but even duplicate and amplify it when Chadwick deploys these little flying monkeys to do his bidding by proxy in some Three Stooges attempt to remove himself from the sphere of exaction.
     When my new novel, Gods of Our Fathers, went live on Kindle on Christmas Eve then again in paperback the day after Xmas, I even had to restrict news of its launch to the social media accounts from which I'd had to block him last June. I never put the news up at Pottersville. This was because I knew sure as honey attracts flies that he'd surf straight to the product page, buy a copy, get an immediate refund then write the one star review he'd already decided weeks and months ago he was going to write.
     Because somehow, without even trying, I've managed to fill a void in this "man's" life that even his obsession with the WWE and Mystery Science Theater 3000 couldn't hope to fill.
     So what else have I done about this piece of shit? Well, he's still trying to sneak comments by me using his "SRD" Google account despite my telling his big brother Danny I would delete all comments by him and his baby brother unread. I'd alerted the Utah AG's Office twice and all they did was regurgitate back to me an email containing all the information I'd given them. I've contacted the Ogden City PD and they never responded to my complaint. And I'd contacted Comcast's security team (since he's leeching a free wifi account of theirs) who'd called my house three times and promised they'd reach out to him with a non-binding cease and desist order to leave me alone. All that did, apparently, was fuel his obsession to cartoonish proportions.
     So that leaves me with few legal options.
     He's spending frightening amounts of time morning, noon and night, every day on the calendar, including holidays, at my blog, mining every single scrap of information about me, a writer and human being he professes to hate with every fiber of his being, including finding out what I wrote about my dead cat over six years ago. This stringy-haired little freak from Utah is freaking out my girlfriend and spending untold amounts of time trying to skew my Amazon ratings to tank my book sales while obviously not reading a word of any of them.
     So that's why I've sought refuge here and resurrected this blog. Hopefully, he hasn't bookmarked it and has lost all memory of it and the URL (although there's no telling with an obsession like his).
     And this is why I'm writing my first post here in four and a half years and why for now at least Pottersville's gone dark. I don't expect many of you to care since Chadwick has become my most dedicated "reader". But I will be posting about politics here (We're almost in an election year. How could I not?) And, should you be moved to do so, there's a handy Paypal button on the bottom of the index page. So I'll be here until I figure out my next move.

(Addendum: Just 12 minutes ago, this little cunt began stalking me at THIS place from his Facebook account and alternate IP address (XO Communications) I've traced to Ogden, Utah, meaning either someone alerted him to it or he'd taken the pains to bookmark it. So I fully expect a one star review of my book to automatically go up within the next 24 hours that he's already prematurely ejaculating in his pants over. And you know how I know this? Because he has such a small, predictable mind, my mind actually contains his. You watch: He's going to call Big Brother and his fan boy trolls and the one star reviews of Gods of Our Fathers and the threatening comments will begin popping up within a day or two. )