On Saturday, March 9, 2019 at 12:40:58 PM UTC-5, Scott Abraham wrote:
On Saturday, March 9, 2019 at 5:51:40 AM UTC-8, Eviel Dewar wrote:
On Saturday, March 9, 2019 at 1:52:26 AM UTC-5, Scott Abraham wrote:
On Friday, March 8, 2019 at 11:51:31 AM UTC-8, Eviel Dewar wrote:
On Friday, March 8, 2019 at 2:45:07 PM UTC-5, Scott Abraham wrote:
On Friday, March 8, 2019 at 10:29:58 AM UTC-8, Eviel Dewar wrote:
On Thursday, March 7, 2019 at 1:20:50 AM UTC-5, Ted wrote:
On Wednesday, March 6, 2019 at 5:08:02 PM UTC-8, Eviel Dewar wrote:

But to turn to more substantive matters, the song does raise a whole new set of allegations which I think are important for you to answer. Do you indeed carry 5 kilograms of cocaine inside your large intestine?

Well, it wouldn't be a surprise, given he bragged about taking three ounces of weed to his fantasy Vietnam..

Yes. And there are eyewitness accounts of him carrying objects inside his rectum and taking them out of his anus.

Really? Eyewitness accounts? Who? Name, place, time, and object.

Do you know a woman named Mia Kefir?

Not this idiotic game again, where you obsessively read every post from twenty years ago, ask idiotic questions, and pound your tiny liddle pud in feverish anticipation of catching me lying.
You just told a whopper of a ****ing lie, freak. Prove it. Who. Name. Place. Time. Object. And your name while you are at it, dumb****.
What a pathetic, stupid, deranged pervert you are.
Oh, and since you asked, does not ring a bell.

Idiot.

You never went on a date with a woman by that name?

The same stupid game, the same ridiculous insanity, the same desperation. Clue time. While you might remember every date you ever had, because you can't get a date (though I am sure you remember every child you molested), I don't. Especially from over twenty years ago. Name. Time. Place. Object. Dumb****. Continue, this amuses me.

Here is the relevant portion of Ms. Kefir's testimony, which is explicit and shocking:

"He demands that I pay for the gas, lest he call me a whore. He proceeds to tell me that the best thing about having his anus stretched out so much as a child is that his rectum now doubles as a handbag, and he produces a lovely corsage from his anus and presents it to me."

Her complete account is below:

---------------------------

From Wed Jun 30 02:42:32 1999
Date: Wed, 30 Jun 1999 02:51:32 GMT
From: Mia Kefir
To:
Subject: Ladies! Win a date with Schattie Abraham!

On 29 Jun 1999 17:24:32 GMT, in rec.skiing.alpine you wrote:

Ladies! How would *you* like to win a date with rec.skiiing.alpine's
Schattie Abraham? You can if you enter Parrot Networks "Win a Date With
Schattie Abraham contest"! Here's how!

1) Send an e-mail detailing how fat, ugly, slovenly misogynistic slobs
turn *you* on! Spinal Tap once said "the looser the waistband, the
deeper the quicksand" - why let priests have a monopoly on finding
out!

Like this. I yearn to have a fat slob treat me like ****. I need to
have my butt probed by somebody that only knows anal and condiments,
who has a very small penis, as I'll still be able to squeak when he's
done with it. I yearn for a 300 pound moron with coke bottle glasses
to rub a salami all over me in public, as it is a total turn on for me
to look up at the imbecile of the century and not be able to breathe
as his fat rolls suffocate my tiny frame.


2) Describe your "dream date" with Schattie! Drumming in the woods?
Howling at "bitch feminists"? Or maybe kicking back in front of a
roaring fire with a vintage mayonnaise talking about repressed memories
of being sodomized by the clergy? What ever it is you'd like to do,
just let Parrot Networks know!

My dream date with Scott Abraham would entail him coming to pick me up
in his dog-hair infested van with condiment stains all over the walls
from him farting while sleeping in it. He demands that I pay for the
gas, lest he call me a whore. He proceeds to tell me that the best
thing about having his anus stretched out so much as a child is that
his rectum now doubles as a handbag, and he produces a lovely corsage
from his anus and presents it to me. The evening continues on to the
local Mc Donalds where he tells them he's very well connected in the
food industry and he's the leader of a large internet site that
reviews fine dining and he's influential to thousands of people on the
internet. The zit faced moron behind the counter meekly shugs and
asks "do you want fries with that?", to which, he replies "blow me,
dumb****, I want 3 pounds of fries, and don't hold back on the
grease". After an unusually long period of watching him shovel food
into his mouth with both hands, he declares that he's ready to show me
the pride. With a joy liken to being raped, I agree to go home with
him. We arrive at his house and I immediately smell the odor of
putrid feces, urine, and unwashed clothes. I meet the roommates who
declare "when you're done with her, can we have her?". We go
downstairs into the basement and I see clothes scattered all over with
lumps of dog **** all over them and the reek of urine and rotten
mayonaisse all over. He proceeds to get on the internet and tell
everybody about his beautiful new physician girlfriend who is sitting
on his lap and he ignores me for eight hours. I stand in a corner,
horrified. After 8 hours of screaming "that viscious *******, I'm
gonna **** him up, just watch", he finally decides to get up, pull
down his pants and declare, "time for you to stick your head in the
fence". I see what looks like a broken toothpick between his legs,
laugh hysterically, then it disappears. I leave, disgusted.



3) Explain why YOU think Parrot Networks should put up the money to
Schattie's pimp (Bert Hoff) for your fabulous encounter! The lucky
lady with the winning entry will be flown to Seattle for her dream date
with America's favorite hopelessly insane catamite - Schattie Abraham!*

I think I should be the winner of Parrot Networks dream date because I
have the stomach of steel and I can handle anything. Roger, instead
of Scott, can I just have a pig sent to my house instead?


Mia Kefir
Cult of the Dead Cow
Femme Fatale