I am a Marxist who wants to eradicate the shadow of the working class from the north east.

I praise the "heroes" of the former communist East European states who fought against communism, whilst decrying everything which is not extreme left in this country and wish extreme pain and suffering towards a drawn out death for one particular ex-prime minister of UK.

My contributions(?) to this forum are usually either lengthy and nauseating discourses on anal sex or other depraved perversions, or reams in Jugoslavian?
(some E European tongue anyway, I neither know what it is nor what garbage is the content).

I also often imply that other posters are guilty by association of serious and disgusting crimes perpetrated by inhabitants a particular town. Should anyone query or disagree with my postings, my reactions follow the same predictable routine;-

1) I accuse those who object to my garbage of making personal attacks upon my good self.


2) I threaten self harm

3) I post personal insults about my "attacker"

4) I announce to the world that everyone who has met me says that I am a very nice person.

5) I "assume", (for dramatic effect), that those whom I find it necessary to insult are bent on physically attacking me (whether or not this has been threatened or implied)

6) I agree to, (and often propose), a face-to-face meeting with my "antagonist", while announcing my dedication to pacifism.

7) I slip into my "I'm sorry" mode, confirming that I cannot stop myself from making these disgusting posts "Oh! The demons posess me!"

8) I now show what a nice man I am and deny any wrong doing, that I am of superior intellect and quote lengthy misinterpretations from the posts which
upset poor misunderstood me, proving that it is those who made them are at fault, never myself, I am the victim!

And you know what, there are some in the world who support me!

T.E.

Dear Sue,

Thank you for such a fascinating insight into your troubled mind.

The ex-prime minister upon whom you ‘wish extreme pain and suffering towards a drawn out death’ is not, I trust, dear old Grocer Heath. He wasn’t such a bad chap after all, even though he brought the country almost to its knees in 1973. Neither could it be the Widow Thatcher who now has the unenviable task of removing thousands of empty gin bottles from her late husband’s den at her humble little residence in Buckinghamshire. I suppose it must be that nice man in the grey suit whose name no one remembers.

I hope that when you resolve your difficulties with Candice you will persuade her to join our Happy Circle.

With all good wishes for a full recovery,

Your friend Roger