On Aug 17, 2:54 am, Harry wrote:
On Thu, 16 Aug 2007 21:25:54 -0700, twobuddha
wrote this crap:



On Aug 16, 6:26 pm, Harry wrote:
On Thu, 16 Aug 2007 17:36:02 -0700, twobuddha
wrote this crap:

What lies, freak? That's another lie you tell about me....every time
you post about me. Provide the supposed half dozen. Ooops, another
lie.

You forget again. I keep the "lie list." I've documented hundreds of
your lies.

Documented? Provide proof. Any documents you have.
Another of your hundreds of lies exposed for the laughable bull****.
What lies, freak? Provide documentation. Bluff called, Dickless
Horvath.
oooops, another lie.

Here's a classic:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Scott Abraham
Subject: Nam on my mind
Date: 1999/05/02
Message-ID: #1/1
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Organization: The Holy Church of Vail
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Newsgroups: rec.skiing.alpine

All of this bull**** about The Land of Bad Things is causing the
residual Agent Orange (and a ****load of Hanoi Gold I smoked, along
with the acid) to induce flashbacks.
I havn't been sleeping well. I keep having nightmares, tossing and
turning, my body soaked in fear sweat.
I'm back in that hot and stinky place, stuck on that bare hilltop, the
rain cutting visibility down to a hundred yards, the mud a thing that
seems to have a will of its own.
The stink of cordite fills my nostrils. The gorge rises in my throat,
tasting of another of those scrufulous barbecue pork c-rats.
I'm down to my last mag. Everyone else is dead, their bodies propped
in the eerie positions they found as they fell.
I could swear they are praying.
Charlie is out there behind the wire, massing for the final charge
that will overrun my shallow hole in the ground.
I can hear them moving, and they start to chant:

Ho, Ho, K2 Ho
Ho, Ho, Olin Ho

I peer over the sandbags, and see them charge. They can't walk
through the mud, so they have planks on their feet covered with skins,
sticks in their hands, dressed from head to foot in black Patagucci.
They reek of patchouli oil.
I scream, "Come and get it, you pinna slopes!"
I fire until the barrel glows cherry red, and never run out of rounds.

They all fall down, but then get up and keep coming. They get closer,
and I can see the duct tape hanging in shreds from their garments.
Two are carrying the oddest thing. It looks like a park bench, and
taped to the bench is the ELB, naked, moaning "Suckee, ****ee, seven
and three".
I know what will happen if they capture me. I pull my Randall, grab
the Pride, and scream "You'll never take me alive, coppers"
Then I wake up, shivering in mortal terror.

Two Buddha, War Hero

Vail: Sweet dreams
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Caught you lying again. Caughtyoulyingagain.

This is just one documented lie of many hundreds.

Sweet Dreams, asshole.


Uh, duh.
An obvious satire, clearly labeled as such, written to spoof assholes
like you.
To portray me as serious or reporting fact in that post is an
outright, transparent, ridiculous lie. Pinna slopes?
Holy ****, you're a dumb dip**** mother****er.
Caught you lying again. Caughtyoulying again.
One more time: provide ANY documented lie. Any documents. Any proof.
Caught you lying again, Dickless Horvath. Like when you lied last
month about your identity. George Horvath, eh? Documented lie.