Depression Recovery

Question:

REGARDING BELOW MENTAL CASE MODERATOR/CENSOR :

> I run two moderated ngs and we are having a lot of problems with spam.

USENET POLICE: > Altopia accepts all posts and is known in the industry for excellent

completion. MENTAL CASE MODERATOR/CENSOR/LIAR – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> altopia > seems not to enforce their TOS–and they FINALLY seem to have helped a poor > woman in one of the parent ngs who was being stalked.  But, it took her many > months and I think a court order to do so.  In the meantime, she could have been > killed.  This really sucks. > I am most concerned that the stalker will invade the moderated ng–this has > almost shut down another mod ng (not the same person–same situation though). > This person knows how to forge headers very well and can certainly circumvent > moderation if he so chooses–that could bring down the open and the moderated > groups–that would be disasterous.  He is an altopia user–and so far, altopia > refuses to close his account–only provide information to the victim. That > really sucks. > Anyone else have problems reporting spam from altopia? > Nope.  Just you.

> TIA > Nancy > to email me, remove the Z. > administrator/creator/moderator > alt.med.fibromyalgia.recovery.info (moderated) > alt.support.depression.manic.moderated

USENET POLICE REPORTS: > Isn’t this the news group News Agent bot-runner Keith > Hardwick co-moderates? > You are an abuser just like your co-moderators.

"LYING WHORE" – MENTAL CASE CENSOR/MODERATOR: > But, it took her many >>months and I think a court order to do so.  In the meantime, she could have been >>killed.  This really sucks. > This has been going on for one week and she did not get a court order. > If you want to garner support for this innocent woman you should tell > the truth.  You will not be able to help her or yourself by telling > lies.

A MENTAL CASE CENSOR/MODERATOR LIAR TRYING TO BE "CLEVER" AGAIN,  ’CAUSE THEY ARE  _"SPECIAL"_.

Response:

- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – > REGARDING BELOW MENTAL CASE MODERATOR/CENSOR : > > I run two moderated ngs and we are having a lot of problems with spam. > USENET POLICE: > Altopia accepts all posts and is known in the industry for excellent > completion. > MENTAL CASE MODERATOR/CENSOR/LIAR > > altopia > > seems not to enforce their TOS–and they FINALLY seem to have helped a > poor > > woman in one of the parent ngs who was being stalked.  But, it took her > many > > months and I think a court order to do so.  In the meantime, she could > have been > > killed.  This really sucks. > > I am most concerned that the stalker will invade the moderated ng–this > has > > almost shut down another mod ng (not the same person–same situation > though). > > This person knows how to forge headers very well and can certainly > circumvent > > moderation if he so chooses–that could bring down the open and the > moderated > > groups–that would be disasterous.  He is an altopia user–and so far, > altopia > > refuses to close his account–only provide information to the victim. > That > > really sucks. > > Anyone else have problems reporting spam from altopia? > Nope.  Just you. > > TIA > > Nancy > > to email me, remove the Z. > > administrator/creator/moderator > > alt.med.fibromyalgia.recovery.info (moderated) > > alt.support.depression.manic.moderated > USENET POLICE REPORTS: > Isn’t this the news group News Agent bot-runner Keith > Hardwick co-moderates? > You are an abuser just like your co-moderators. > "LYING WHORE" – MENTAL CASE CENSOR/MODERATOR: > > But, it took her many > >>months and I think a court order to do so.  In the meantime, she could > have been > >>killed.  This really sucks. > This has been going on for one week and she did not get a court order. > If you want to garner support for this innocent woman you should tell > the truth.  You will not be able to help her or yourself by telling > lies. > A MENTAL CASE CENSOR/MODERATOR LIAR TRYING TO BE "CLEVER" AGAIN,  ’CAUSE > THEY ARE  _"SPECIAL"_.

The Death Of Andrew – Diary of A Dead Man.  By F.U. Tolstoevsky. "Yob tebya v rot" he mumbled under his breath, swinging the infected leg over the side of the cot.  It didn’t seem much worse than yesterday – govno.  His mind tore itself away from the pain, and instantly found greener pastures of pain…   That Prozakian Borg fagot at 7-11.  Lord!  Why did You curse Your creation with these child-fucking queers!  Christ!  What was a cup of coffee to him – fucking pedophilic drug addict.   "Sick? Why not go to a doctor, you stinking frickin’ bum!  Get the fuck out of the store before I call the cops!"   If the fat russo-mongolian only knew…  I got FBI agents ready to do my bidding, I own his Prozakian zombie soul – and I’ll get around to it…  Doctors – fucking charlatans with a shitstained toilet paper plastered to their ass-fucking walls.  Ptfu!  Mentally-ill prozakian Borg collective.  Fuck they know – I was a TEACHER!  I frickin’ taught their CHILDREN, for Christ’s sake!  Protected them from the God damned faggots…  Lord, what went wrong?!  Who could walk proud? (the pain in the leg calmly reminded him that he, certainly, would not be one of the fortunate…)   Bastards.  That cock sucking mental patient faggot of a principle must have sucked plenty of dick to float that slander past the board. They’re all the same…  Fudge-paking pederasty.  My boy!  Moy sunok! That child-molesting bitch must have spread her pizda  for all of them. (there was a scratching in the closet, he reached down under the bed and threw a shoe.  The scratching stopped for a second, but kept on…)   Suka!  Blyt!  Oh, it was no use, without the 7-11 the 30 creamers and 10 packs of sugar were no longer an option…  And the leg – not even sure if making it there would be worth it, seeing that self-righteous pizdovnik! (the pain made itself known again, but he pushed it under, deep… deep…  Not like those mental Prozakian parasites.)  He let his mind wonder.   The last job – security guard.  A honest job for a real man.  He remembered the weight of the flashlight in his belt holster,  the reassuring clanking of the keys.  The boy would have been so proud – if not for that  govnaya mental bitch.  Hah!  A doctor!  Pizda the size of the grand canyon, stretched by everyone who was willing to risk his huy!  Those malchik fuckers were all too willing to overlook the facts…  Moe deteo!  Moy Malenkiy!  Not even a frickin’ word – Prozak zombies – surrounded by faggots!   (the pain in the leg reminded him that it was going to demand some of his attention.)  The phone was shut off.  There was little reason to get out of bed.  He thought of dragging himself to the bathroom, but, after an hour’s deliberation, decided against it.  He pissed in an empty coffee cup lying by the cot, and thought.  In hours, who knew how many, sleep, sweet sleep, came…  It was so different there – fields of sunflowers, straw-thatched huts, life…    He woke up in dull pain,  some Pizdak knocking on the door.  He closed his eyes…  Lord, please… Not now…  The knocking stopped, giving him a chance to clear his head.  The swelling has spread past the hip, and, as he tried to move, a sharper, more defined pain shot through his body.   Blyat!  Sukin sin!  None of this was happening.  This is not how he planned it.  A dream.  The scratching in the closet was loud.  "They smell it," he thought.  The anger which drove him so long was gone – there was only this…  senseless pain, and the scratching in the closet.  None of this was real.  He realized that during the night, the bed got soiled…  No matter – just a phase – he’ll wake up soon.  This is not how it is.  Thoughts moved in and out of him,  through him – he couldn’t understand.  Trains going past nowhere-town stations on the way somewhere far, far…   Flies covering the corpse of a rotting horse, the face of his wife calidoscoping into a symmetrical pattern of color. A pigeon was sitting on his windowsill, his feathers fluffed up and unkempt.  "Sick bird," he thought.  Was there a windowsill?  The air was too viscous, too much like, like…  This is not how it is.  The pain was gone.  Tiny kittens – or was it?  There was no more pain, and no more anger.  There was a crow picking on a dead squirrel on his floor, oblivious.  His son was beside the crow, ripping into the liquefying squirrel flesh.  This is not how it is.  This is…  Too… Faggots. No.  This is not how it is.  The pain gone.  "Not how I planned it wake up please too much air sticky syrup…"   "What the fuck, how long were you going to wait ‘fore you called us – ’till the frickin’ rats ate him?  Jesus!"   "He kind’o kept to himself, you know how those types are…"   "Well, good fuckin’ luck gettin’ somebody to live here for the next couple ‘o years, buddy.  Know it ain’t no skin off your ass."   "Fuck no – you guys want some coffee?" No wife.  No kid.  No dog. WHYYYY MMMM CCC AAAyhay!

Response:

Eh Andrew, always talking about mental patients… ups.. but you don