It was waaaaaaaay back in late August of 2007 that one Patrick Ross was mouthing off online, and daring your humble scribe to "bring it the fuck on":
And, lo, the fuck was indeed brought:
I try my best to be accommodating.
P.S. Your occasional reminder that, even after declaring bankruptcy, then failing to live up to his obligations to the point where his trustee resigned from his file in disgust, Patrick was still given a sweetheart Conditional Discharge Order.
He fucked that up, too.
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Now, 15 years later, Twatrick gets to explain to his "loved ones" why he was writing erotic fiction less than 48 hours after his mom Carol Ross's death in Lloydminster. And why he blamed Carol for getting Stage 4 cancer in a tweet because she didn't seek treatment soon enough. And he also gets to explain that his developmentally disabled niece Tristen will have to support herself through minimum wage jobs for her entire life because her moronic sociopath Uncle Twatsy blew the family finances on a protracted defamation suit which he lost in infamously humiliating fashion.
This whole thing reads like projection in the worst possible way
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