A week on from "The Big Betrayal", when Darling Debbie revealed herself as Poison Wray, and the shock is just as pronounced as more facts emerge about this puerile bunch of harpies who troll from group to group, dishing the dung and stabbing people in the back, most especially their so-called friends.
There are only four people--three woman and one man who--if I was to be told they had shuffled their mortal coil--would genuinely see me rejoicing. They know who they are.
But the one who betrayed me last week equates to being worse than all those four added together. Throw half a dozen Hindleys and Borgias into the mix, a dash of Eichmann and a few chunks of Manson, and this person would still be less loathed in my eyes and the eyes of my loved ones. Enemies I can cope with. Enemies masquerading as friends, offering hugs and kisses while topping up the poison-cup I can do without. Illness--the fact that two of these women may be on their last legs and one of their cohorts at death's door, does not come into it. The world did not forgive Myra Hindley when she succumbed to cancer. Peter Sutcliffe would be no less loathed if he developed a terminal disease. God moves in mysterious ways. Puerile is puerile, from whichever angle it is perceived
This is neither libel nor scandal, no lies. The evidence is there for all to see, from their very own lips and in their very own words. The four people mentioned in the opening paragraph above were at least upfront in their thoughts about me. For over two years, Poison as she ill now eternally be known, embraced me in the warm glow of friendship. We laughed together, cried together. We shared secrets about our illnesses, and about our families--most especially those members of our families who abused us, one way or another. Others have now come forward, saying that they too confided in her, only to be similarly stabbed in the back. Were it not for two of these friends, coming forward with the information I posted as "Desperate Fishwives: Bamburd's Babblers", I would have been none the wiser regarding what was going on.
Poison keeps her Facebook friends' list closed. This is so that others cannot see who she is friends with--people she outwardly confesses to hating, such as the multi-faced Irishwoman who wheedled her way into getting my telephone number, and who along with Poison and two others were plotting to get a policeman to illegally access the station computers to see if they could find information about me, to set me up. This morning she asks me to supply proof of my allegations--I don't need to: it's all in "Desperate Fishwives". Next she bemoans the fact that she is seriously ill. Fine--let's hope that it's serious enough to ensure you an early visit to the Pearly Gates and send us all a postcard.
Two of these harridans are so consumed with guilt that they have left Facebook. The Irishwoman has threatened to send the police to my home for "libelling and harrassing" her. I wish she would. It would enable me to publish the various very long message threads that I have by her--such as what she really thinks about resident Januses who profess to being her friends-- not to mention the "Big Brother" and "Laffin Assasin" incidents. She knows what I mean. All of this information including the entirety of "Desperate Fishwives" has gone to the police and I have made a statement--and I don't just spout empty threats without having the evidence, I do it. No prisoners, not this time.
April 27 was just one instance of how two-faced my phoney friend was. I'm still reeling from the shock. Only last Friday she was telling me, in our 721st and final telephone conversation, that the year after next she will be celebrating her 60th birthday and her 25th wedding anniversary on the same day. "You and Jeanne must come and spend the weekend here," she said. "If you don't, we'll come and fetch you!" I enquired about The Dying One, who also stays at her home--naturally we wouldn't be wanting confrontations. The response was that She Who Curses Like A Sailor On Shore Leave is so ill, she is expected to be dead by then. Her words, not mine.
The Dying One remains one of the most horrible creatures I have ever clapped eyes on, but I can say hand on heart that she is a thousand times more human than Poison will ever be because, when she was having a go at me, she did not hide--she came out with it. I respect her for that, even though she taped and photographed everything when she and her husband came hammering on my door--which, naturally, Poison defended. I should have realised then that she was inherently evil. I may genuinely hope that the mouthy one gets better because despite her vitriol she was never less than honest. I have moved on and bear her no grudges. Also, she was not party to "Bamburd's Babblers" and has just as vilely been attacked by these people in the name of fake friendship. It's all there in the next instalment: "Lost In Frances".
I also state that besides speaking to me 721 times on the phone, Poison has also spoken to my wife 12 times, and on innumerable occasions asked me to send her her love. She was the very first to criticise others for writing foul things about my wife, while doing exactly the same thing behind her back. We have been married for forty years, and are very happy. All of these women have had relationship problems at some stage of their lives. They do not like men.
Since last Friday, I and my friends have done a lot of investigating, and this is not an isolated incident. There have been many such threads, and I have most of them. I haven't published them because, other than the one of 27 April, they do not mention my name. They DO however see all of these nasty women, who have nothing better to do than augment secret covens and bitch like fishwives, picking on whichever one of them isn't there at the time. Needless to say, if they pick on my wife and son again, I shall publish them--every single one, down to the last word. Is this a threat, you ask. You bet it is!
To recap, this puerile quartet, besides attacking just about everyone in their unsocial circle, made the following observations about my wife and myself:
That we are NOT man and wife, that Jeanne is my mother or my sister, that I am not who I say I am, that I was not born when the records show that I was, that I am gay, etc, etc. Needless to say, because of their poison the rumour persists that my son is disabled because I fathered him with my own mother or sister--one kind soul has even made my son's place of work aware of this. Would that she may suffer a friendly seizure while she is reading this. She can pay for the stamp for the Irishwoman's postcard from those Pearly Gates.
And just to be certain of the facts which they have obviously got wrong, in "Desperate Fishwives" the triple-monickered Irishwoman is asking for personal information about me--which Poison THINKS she has supplied--so that she can get "Tom" and "Christy", policemen with the Dublin Garda, to do pc checks on me. She further asserts that "Tom" and "Christy" will next "get heavy" with me and "put the frighteners" on me. This was on 27 April, since which time things HAVE happened which may be traced back to "Desperate Fishwives". Even the worst of the so-called "pro-McCanns" don't hold a light to this lot. Indeed, I can now see where the other side is coming from.
Let's hope, then, that I do not have to write any more about this matter here.