Congratulations to the #02 Top DUmmie of 2016, although “#02” might be too low of a title for her; perhaps “01a Top DUmmie of 2016” would be more fitting. Not that she approached the #01 Top DUmmie of 2016 in gouty nastiness and bitter spite and hysterical hate, but she did come pretty close to matching his raucous din, clamor, and noise.
Suprisingly, this is only her second Top DUmmiehood…..and she’s jumped pretty high both times. She was also the #08 Top DUmmie of 2015.
Of course it’s bravenak, a younger woman of African derivation originally from California but currently braving the harsh Arctic climes of Alaska. One isn’t sure what she’s doing up there, but even the most menial service jobs in Alaska pay a lot better than what they pay in the lower forty-eight, so whatever she’s doing, she’s probably doing okay.
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bravenak caused a ruckus earlier this year, when she was recipient of a letter—coming via the U.S. Mail, no less—that threatened violence against her person if she didn’t sit down and shut up; apparently somebody didn’t like that she didn’t like the old sourassed sourpuss Methuselah challenging Messalina Agrippina.
The letter was duly posted on Skins’s island for all to see, and while cooler heads wanted to think about it a bit before coming to any conclusions, Lamond, the “MrScorpio” primitive with poor impulse control, immediately jumped in and said he’d find the culprit, the thug who wrote the letter.
And no, he didn’t want any help from anybody else; he could expose the felon all by himself.
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Lamond was so busy listening to himself that he paid no heed to franksolich, who already knew the identity of the author of the poisonous missive, and who offered to make some sort of deal with Lamond in exchange for that information.
Not that I had anything to do with the letter; in fact, when hearing of it a very long time before it happened—and even before the “victim” (quotation marks intentional) was decided upon—I’d counseled against it.
Given franksolich’s well-established reputation for holding confidences, “secret doings” of this nature come to me all the time, usually unsolicited. Others tell me stuff because they feel some sort of need to tell
someone, and they rightfully trust franksolich.
But that meant nothing to Lamond, who for some odd reason considers franksolich not very bright.
So tough shit for Lamond, who could’ve had the answer, but because of his overweening arrogance never got it.
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Not that it made a whole lot of difference anyway, because five minutes after he’d promised, Lamond forgot.
In the meantime, bravenak, taking her fellow Africanly-derived primitive seriously, nailed her windows shut and barricaded the front door, crouching underneath the overturned sofa, trusting Sir Promisealot to come to her rescue. bravenak’s a puny little thing; someone wouldn’t have to be very big, to make mincemeat of her.
Even the bitter old Vermontese cali primitive, who’s reasonably slight, could pound her into a little red spot in the ground.
But Sir Promisealot never showed, which meant that for several months poor little bravenak cowered and trembled in fear of being assaulted, and perhaps worse, by a Bernie bully.
Fortunately, nothing happened. I have no idea why, but nothing happened.
And so once again Lamond showed his true colors; if bravenak had been a blonde white woman, Sir Promiseatlot would’ve identified and dealt with the perpetrator in a matter of minutes.
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This was at the point where bravenak changed, becoming considerably less of an admirable person than she’d been before, being all heroic and that. She became overbearingly anti-all that is good and decent, and really rude.
But one could hardly blame her, being deserted by one of her own, like that.
Up Next: the franksolich, for the primitive who should’ve been nominated and selected for the top ten, but who wasn’t