The Wisconsin deal came from the DUmbasses. They all wanted to join her to help deface the Wisconsin capitol building, and she egged them on. It sprang from the DUmbass inability to spell. Her town is Milwaukie, Oregon, which the DUmbasses apprently thought was Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She's been freeloading in Oregon all this time. Whenever a DUmmie would ask to crash in her bonus room apartment, she'd say the space was spoken for, never that it was in another state. I'm not sure, but that might transcend internet security, into the realm of lying. Now that she's been booted from the bonus room, we need to find out where she's freeloading all over again. At least now we know they have "farmettes" in Oregon.
Well, yeah, maybe, it goes beyond prudent internet safety into the realm of lying, but I'm cutting the grasswire primitive some slack here, given that (a) she's not especially bright, (b) she's a woman, and (c) she's an older woman.
The last thing decent and civilized people would ever do is scare a little old lady.
franksolich is eminently comfortable giving as his location--his true real-life location--either "the eastern slope of the Sandhills of Nebraska" or "the roof of Nebraska," because franksolich is a male in his best years, and perfectly capable of bouncing Fat Che, or any other primitive stalkers, if any of them by chance were to run into him.
The deafness--the inability to know what's on either side of one, or behind one, seeing only what's in front of one--makes franksolich vulnerable, but God has always taken very good care of franksolich.
But a little old lady, especially one who scorns the Glory, the Power, the Majesty, the Compassion, of God, might be a little more nervous, and so it's good to be a little bit vague about location, although admittedly it wasn't really necessary for the grasswire primitive to stretch things that far.
And again, kudos to the grasswire primitive, who fooled franksolich.
franksolich, out here on the roof of Nebraska, on the eastern slope of the Sandhills of Nebraska, is 1500 miles away from the grasswire primitive, and with the creeping gerontological effects of deafness, is generally satisfied staying here. franksolich has never been to Oregon, and could die happy without ever having seen Oregon.
The last thing I want is a repeat of the hippywife primitive, the Mrs. Alfred Packer, fiasco.
You might recall, sir, that the saga of the Packer clan down in northeastern Oklahoma, gleaned solely from the comments of Mrs. Alfred Packer on Skins's island, was apparently so accurate, so true in all details, so real, that she and hippyhubby Wild Bill were convinced that franksolich was actually down there in Oklahoma, tapping their telephone lines and internet, bugging their house, peeking into their windows, following them around, inquiring of their neighbors, opening and reading their mail, that it scared her.
It just didn't seem possible that franksolich could know so much, without actually being there.
And so Mrs. Alfred Packer ran away from the cooking and baking forum, where she had once been one of the most prominent and popular builders-of-campfires, and she's been sorely missed, by both her fellow primitives and decent and civilized people.
This paranoia is utter nonsense.
The primitives have nothing, nothing at all, to fear from franksolich, who's a nice guy, one of the nicest guys one can ever hope to meet.
