Ok people, let's see who is still here since we are missing 2.3 months of posts.

We've got Dr. Lube, which is great.

Coop is still here, he's one of the ones we'd have hoped to lose actually.

StickyBuns is still commenting on his own blogs that nobody else really reads.

Kong is misfiring a couple of cylinders. All is right with the world. 

During TT's down time, I looked around. Found a racist site called OuTcHiMp that was covering the Trayvon case. Everyone is racist so I figured I'd fit in.

Not so.

I actually got banned during their registration process. I shit you not.

I assumed that because hate speech was encouraged that all was fair game. Turns out its just another echo chamber of same-ole-same-ole.

Frankly, things are pretty grim out there.

Even the merest whiff that the trackers may or may not be back felt plain WRONG.

When imageboards are the busiest places where you can still troll and raid, something is fundamentally WRONG. Quiet though it is, this place has history and is still a refuge from a politically correct obsessed world.

Now, if everyone will shut the fuck up for a moment, I'll start with a long lost email that was hacked from the dark sewer drain known as Whoredawgs Inbox. Complaining. Not like her I know, but hey...

Dr. LU: This was a real letter, and not something I just nicked off of the internet and posted because I was bored.


TO: MR. JAMES THATCHER, BRAND MANAGER, PROCTER & GAMBLE.
FROM: VICTORIA LEDBETTER
DATE: OCTOBER 25, 2001

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years
and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard
Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding
or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down
the beach in tight, white shorts.. But my favorite feature has to be
your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart
enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I
can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a
little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from
the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is
starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces
violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my
body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to
call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body
amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt
seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your
customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know
about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our
intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior. You
surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last
week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her
boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told
her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just
crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to
the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping
so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I
opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing,
were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you fucking kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny
middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing
happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything
mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?
FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never
be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up
on Nyquil and Budweiser and lock yourself in your house just so you don't
march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a
sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap
a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say
something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or
'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective
immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have
chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will
certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your
brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep.
Always.

Best,
VIKKI_70
Dallas, GA

Damn, what a little schoolyard snitch SunnySaid is. A few viewers come in to talk about what a Dirty Bastard he is on a youtube video and Sunny is tattle telling like the butthurt bitch he is. He used to do the same thing at BlogTV. I couldn't stand to watch the long ass video of him mirin his black wife beater and asked to be banned from the site immediately.

I noticed while the entire episode went down, you ran like a dog with your tail between your legs and once the dust of battle had settled, you push out your chest and blow about a continuation of the VonHelton wars. Way to defend your "vonhomie", you fencesitting coward.

Get a dictionary, Sunny. Look up 'winning'. Then look up 'Hours spent letting TrollTrackers make a complete tit of me'.

You'll be amazed.

You can never stand on your own can you, which is the very reason you decided to flag down The Dirty Bastards video, for protection. You're one of the biggest pussies on the internet. Here, chew on my girls' tampon, you periodic discharge.

After all, if I wanted a doormat watching my videos, I would have stepped on you first. Consider the mat pulled from under your filthy fucken feet. Between hitting on minor children and chating up old married drunks, you're just about determined to be a guest of the state, or Bubba's 9mm, huh?

And yet you watch my videos and read my blog; as do at least hundreds of blogdom. SunnySaid, you blaspheming little squirrel; look at you dash from youtube to blogger besmirching TrollTrackers. Hey, now that we're back up, why not come over and try out some of your pissing and moaning to the youtube community again? TrollTrackers is the place to be if you're aiming to exchange some heat with the upper echelons of the blog community.

Or, kick off your shoes and relax in the TT Conference Room for a spell. Now that football season is in down time, there's no shortage of exciting posts from our TT gridiron experts!

Uhhh yes. Anything else you talking twix candy bar. Fucking cry me a river you douche. Now fuck off you boring spit rag.

More shenanigans from Ryderbak and Von Helton's brain trust, Sunnysaid.

Mark Yawn, I can appreciate that you are trying to defend the reputation of your budding nerdery, vaughnlive.tv. For my blog readers to understand the emotional attachment you associate with your site, I will have to break down your history and how you arrived at this point in your life.

Imagine you are Mark, an over-nutritioned white boy from Columbia, Tennessee. Imagine that it took your lazy backwoods mother 3 years to finally cut off your umblical cord. Imagine that your hottest date was a rat, and the closest thing to touching a woman you have ever come to, was clipping your mother's rank yellow crusty toenails off with your hind molars. Better yet, why don't I just show you his picture and we can all stop imagining.


Mark never had any friends, well, any friends that could talk back. Flies, discarded soda cans, and a half eaten Twizzler became the prime members of his stout "posse". Learning to survive on mommy's love pats and pinworms was not his only option, but his preferred choice.

"Listen, I could have sought help from social services, or gone to a local news station and put my ugly mug on TV, I am sure someone would have paid me tons of money to have my face reconstructed to resemble something remotely human, and maybe then I could have gotten some pity from some people and they could have been like 'Hey we'll buy his vcoins!'. But with my buckteeth and unibrow, I just became a natural at being a human cock holster. Pick an orifice, it will satisfy."

Problem is Marky never made any money for his upstart company, Various Assholes, Ugly Girls and Horney Nerds, Inc. He was constantly being pummeled and robbed by his own clientele of truckers, drunks, and lonely baseball card fanatics.

On this, Mark had yet another point of view, "Listen, yeah they're destroying me, and leaving me for dead, but when the ambulance came and put me on the stretcher, I leaned my face over the side and spit out Miss Scruffy's love juices. So you see I won. Because they thought I swallowed it, but I didn't. It's because they knew I would do that, that they ran. They don't even kick my ass, as much anymore."

Soon after the VonHelton epidemic had reached an all time high, the Center For Disease Control found it necessary to kill the beast, Marky's mom, Miss Scruffy.

Enraged and spiteful, Mark opened his web site in her honor.

"Listen, vaughnlive.tv was my idea. See there was nothing my mom loved more than to shave the hairs off of her elbow, and while she trolled and harassed the broadcasters, some drunk bum would cam up and fuck her fat folds like a rabid whoredawg...uh, well, in essence my site isn't the real deal, it isn't even cool, its just a place where people can deposit their loads on my lap/arm/chin/unibrow. However, don't talk bad about my site, it's like talking bad about my mamma. Don't piss me off bitch, I won't swallow no moe'."

==================================================

So you see guys, yawnlive is like Mark's family, it's all he's got. Hell, I thought when I landed there and tore them up, left them for dead and moved on to clearing "theTrolls" off other better known sites... that I had done well. Apparently, I should have paid more attention to Miss Scruffy's burnt carcass giving me the middle finger. I guess that's what got me to gracefully smash this rats ass. I wonder what this post was all about?

There is a lot wrong with the once hallowed members of positive bleeding known as Vikki's moderators, that surely can be corrected over time. TrollTrackers, in their brilliance, has taken it upon themselves to construct possibly the greatest judgement system in this games history by using the viewers as the only qualified judges and make it actually work. Bravo. But this isn't about callouts.

This is about the dead weight in Vikki's channel.

BridgetB had a modship and had been haplessly abusing it, banning viewers left and right then denying all of it, after her incompetence was noticed. This had been going on for weeks without reprisal and a few heated comments were made while Vikki was taking a correctional break in the Battlecam state pen. Now, this isn't an issue if it happened once or twice, people make mistakes, but this has been occuring at such a fiendish, mod abusing rate, that TripleT himself, took time away from his busy schedule to post the screenies from the SB today, showing a blatant disregard for the readership of the blogs, all at the cheap wine encrusted hands of one fake friend named BridgetB.

Now understand this, BridgetB isn't a friend, first off, has no idea what a friend is and is only good doing mindless jobs like banning guests which anybody, even the retarded blessed with a severe case of Parkinsons could do. Yet she still fucks that up. Now, those of us who have been here for years understand BridgetB is nothing but a complete idiot. But I was told that BridgetB had lost her modship as of late and that it had happened at her request. This also goes with the last time Vikki went off and mercilessly tried to quiet the fanbase in her channel with her complete lack of free speech.

This cannot happen here, not at TrollTrackers.

Why did BridgetB, a complete nonce in the first place, have a modship? Another alcoholic, online whore who brings nothing to the Vikki game? Tell me one person who considers BridgetB mod worthy and I will sell you some prized ocean front in Dallas, GA that is perfect for starting a family. You want to know a big reason why BridgetB was removed from Vikki's bosom of despair? Look no further than the screenies on display below. How can you blame a seasoned drunk like Vikki, from kicking a back stabbing mod to the curb, when the dunce blatantly posts these comments in her home of perpetual lonliness. Call me old school, but outside of complete failures like BridgetB having a modship, nobody comes close to her, regarding dissing her so called drinking buddy. She is nothing but a huge target who performs rock like manuevers to the delight or entertainment of.....nobody.

This is it, BridgetB. You have come to the point now with all of your mod abuse that you have to put up or shut up. You must prove to everybody here, that you deserve to be Vikki's friend after dissing her behind her back. You can run and cry to Vaughn and it wont help you this time. This is exactly what your mod abuse has given you. Show the readers here just how great a friend you are since you are no longer a mod. It shouldn't be a problem.


The BridgetPalooza Tour now hits TrollTown this week.

Bruce smashes the mason jars and the cane that Tommy gave Vikki.

A Blast from the Past (January 12, 2012)

I love the smell of boo boo's in the evening.




Here's a question for the ages. What's semi-illiterate, bitter at being mostly ignored and takes everything super cybernetic zombie ninja serious? You know it. I know it. The bag of kittens trying to get out of the sack earmarked for a late night disposal run to the nearest large body of water know it. It's everyone's favorite pretend VikTom of Vaughn, our very own lonely crazy drunk whoredawg, Vikki. TrollTrackers's answer to why euthanasia at an advanced, toothless age when rambling pointless bullshit on the internet becomes a way of life is a good idea. Doctor Kevorkian definitely knew what was up. He was truly an underrated genius of our time, long live the suicide machine I say.

Maybe it's just me, but when multiple broadcasts start popping up with the blogs name attached from the cringing webcam of such a frustrated Tommy-less reject, something's up. Was it something we said? Perhaps the Vikki Boo Boo clip I posted earlier? Or maybe it's the hot cyber romance Culver's got going on swapping comments with the Boo Boo's nemesis, The Shitbox? The mind boggles at the possibilities. So many Anon numbers, so little time.

Either way, a hive of mutant fire ants seems to have taken a wrong turn and gotten lost in her elastic pants and are desperately looking to escape from their grim doom. I don't think anyone can blame them either, as there seems to be a common thread of people trying to escape the miasma of endless emo bullshit that surrounds her like a halo of grim darkness. If Vikki was a band, she would have some edgy name like "Dark Woodshed" and sport an artsy album cover ripping off Lurkers Anonymous of a drunk loser slicing her arms open on a grimy bed with an under nourished horse's head trying to push it's way out of a wall behind her.

Hi, I'm Mr. Ed... (cue LA)

Muscles would probably turn in his grave. But then, I doubt she ever expected this masterpiece "The BooBoo" to hang in the Dallas, GA Institute of Arts either. Life can indeed be cruel. I mean just look at the lemons it served up to the whoredawg spending her twilight years whining at people on cam sites that she isn't getting laid. Mind you, that is kinda funny. God bless the comic relief.

Bravo, idiots.

Not only are you Gilligans fucking up yet another brain fart amongst the gastric bubbles that float inside those colons that crosshatched in your craniums, your whining, repeat, whining about how you(se) dimwitted buffoons could peel a banana better than the dildoed gimp next to you is not only hysterical, pathetic, and homely, all at the same time, but the truest reason for people NOT to watch THE SHIT.

It's as if a non-menstrated moron has become the flavor of the day, topped with withering, bumbling creme. Let us learn, you buttered up anuses your exact place here, at this blog:


The Fridge
The Derkzo
The Croftman
The Vikk



Everybody else.



Get the picture? Good.

Let's re-form the dregs, I'm all for it. And even then, dregs, no matter what flavor, are still under my heel. See, the problem here isn't the house, it's the fact you, the fucking monkeys chirping and ear fucking each other for attention, are so fucking beneath, no, not me, but US, that instead of doing, you pitiful little rubber bands bounce the same shit around like some super ball, watching the same shit, go up, wait a few, then it lands yet again, only to bounce yet again, ad nauseum. Not knowing, brainless ones, that what you're saying, is.....shit.

Instead of begging like you tits have a cup in your hand, why not...you know, earn your place?


Novel concept.

LMFAO !!!!

Happy New Year all.

For those of you who have found a soul mate, keep moving, nothing to see here. Go on and romp with Sprdave and Tina Weezer as they whip up lots of frenzied excitement about the proper way to broadcast your driveway. Here in this blog you'll just find some plain heartfelt advice to our resident psycho Tommy, who pines for a love mate.

As his Leo Sayer cultural references show, Tommy is no spring chicken. Before he drifts into that confirmed bachelor/extra man/longtime male companion category, I'd like to reach out and offer him some advice on finding a mate.


OK. Are you with me, buddy? Good. There are five categories of females, and here you'll find the different categories broken down and explained. In doing this, we can pinpoint the right kind of partner for you.

Here's our first category.





The Hard to Get types can be quite alluring in their Forbidden Fruit way, but can be very high maintenance for a man of property such as yourself. You need someone who is going to support you in your important business dealings, not contribute to your burden. Look but don't touch, Tommy. It's not worth it.


Next up:






The quiet homebody. Virtuous and mute, she'll be able to peel your bananas and keep your secrets, but she doesn't travel well. You don't want a mate that you'll be ashamed of at parties. A go-getter like you needs more of a social animal who can mix it up in any crowd. This is someone who will make a good third wife when you're 90 and only interested in oatmeal and saving electricity. Also watch out -- lots of these gals are closet boozers.

Moving on.....





Yes, it's flattering when these come-hither queens of the jungle crook their little fingers and beckon you into their lairs, but the euphoria will be short-lived. There is no 800-lb. gorilla as heavy as the one sitting on your face. If you were a fit young ape, it would be a different story. However, you won't be able to handle these aggressive chunky monkeys and will be worn out within a week, all shooting arm pains and red-faced gasping as she throws you around like a hacky-sack.


next







These seemingly carefree babes are a scourge on nice fellas like you. Oh, they might make eye contact, and bare their breasts, even make a display of urinating all around their domicile, as we see here. The thing is, it's not about you, and will never be about you with these vapid pee-pee primates. You might lure them to bed or corner them over the kitchen sink for some lusty inter-species urine-soaked frolicking, but don't be surprised if they film it and send the vid to The Woodshed.


Finally,




Here she is. Friendly, open, natural good looks, good gums, this is what you need. A cute-as-a-button able-bodied albino monkey with a good sense of humor, she's all lady, whether she's charming the socks off of your business associates, moving rocks around the backyard or delicately working your tiny penis whilst perched on the floor under your desk. I see a rosy future for you if you track down one of these personable gals and make her your own.


Good luck Tommy!