Alexandria Minnesota Rebel News

02/09/2025

At the time of J6, local Q-anon inspired WHACK-JOB, and Cornerstone Church - A Family Integrated Church pastor Darryl Knappen posted, (and then removed) this completely UNHINGED video after other local pastors met with him and condemned him for it.
So please think of this post as a special little early easter egg of local liturgical lunacy, being brought to you exclusively, compliments of your editors and local self-proclaimed rebel leaders, Judd and Wendy Hoff. (Think Mickie and Mallory, Sid and Nancy, Bonnie and Cylde, etc. "Judd and Wendy." I've always loved the way that rolls out. Yes. We're bad people.)
Here and now, 4 years later, Knappen continues to fleece the money collected at his church, which does nothing for the gospel of Christ other than keep its own lights on while feeding this useless son of a b*tch, and his wife (who sings like dying cow). Please watch.

and "Alexandria Minnesota Rebel News" on FB obtained this video from secret sources on who do not wish to be named. We have re-recorded it wit...

02/05/2025

Somewhere in Pennsylvania, a trailer full of eggs disappeared into the night, and with it, any last illusion that we still live in a functioning society. A hundred thousand eggs—just gone. Stolen like a back-alley organ transplant, whisked away to god knows where, as if America itself had cracked wide open and all the yolk spilled out onto the pavement. This wasn’t just a theft. This was a metaphor with feathers. A parable for a nation where scarcity isn’t just a supply chain issue—it’s the goddamn ethos of the ruling class.

Because let’s be honest, eggs aren’t the only thing missing. You want to talk about real shortages? Try empathy. Try basic human decency. Try any sign that the ghouls running this country are capable of feeling anything beyond their own bloated self-interest. The eggs are just the latest casualty in a long-running American tradition: hoard everything for yourself and leave the scraps—if there are any—to the peasants clawing at the bottom of the barrel. And if they complain, tell them it’s their fault for not working harder.

A hundred thousand eggs gone, and somewhere out there, a man in a red hat is nodding along, convinced it’s because the deep state wants to control his breakfast. He’s not mad about the price gouging, the corporate greed, or the politicians who’ve spent years gutting every regulation that might keep food even remotely affordable. No, he’s mad at the immigrants, the liberals, the vegans—anyone but the people actually screwing him. That’s the real theft happening here. Not just eggs, but brains.

Meanwhile, Trump and his gang of shameless sycophants have turned America into a wasteland of hoarded wealth and artificial scarcity. He’s out there eating McDonald's like a king in his golden tower while his cultists can barely afford a goddamn omelet. And do they care? Of course not. They’d rather starve than admit they got conned. They’d rather praise the grifter robbing them blind than acknowledge the egg aisle is empty because of the very policies they cheered for. They bought into the lie that cruelty is strength, that suffering is just the cost of "winning," and now they’re reaping the rotten harvest of their own apathy.

Eggs used to be cheap, plentiful—something so basic that no one had to think twice about grabbing a dozen. But now? They’re disappearing like healthcare, like voting rights, like the last shreds of decency in public office. And just like those things, the people in charge don’t want to fix the problem. They want to profit from it. They want to squeeze every last dime out of your misery while telling you it’s someone else’s fault.

So here we are: living in a country where eggs are contraband and compassion is extinct. Where a truck full of breakfast disappears into the night, and the government is more interested in keeping billionaires happy than making sure you can afford to eat. And the saddest part? Nobody’s going to do a damn thing about it. Not until they wake up one morning, stumble into their kitchen, and realize the only thing left in the fridge is regret.

01/23/2025

THE FIRST TIME I HEARD THE WORD "COWARD."

I remember very distinctly the day that I first learned the meaning of the word "Coward." I was 6 years old. It was a cold, April afternoon, and I was riding in the back seat of an old green, 1968 Cadillac, and sitting next to my shivering sister in her sopping wet clothing. Mary was wet and muddy, and cold, and smelled like a swamp. She had a bump on her forehead. Her lips had turned blue from crawling out of the rear emergency exit of a partially submerged school bus, then waiting in a windy, muddy ditch for her ride home. I was always worried about her, and she was always giving me reasons to feel sorry for her.
The school bus had been carelessly driven into Lake Reno by their school bus driver, Roy Wicken, who had blamed a soft shoulder for the incident. Oddly, though, no one else, to anyone's knowledge, had ever driven off of the road and into the lake in that spot, regardless of conditions.
"What the hell is wrong with that guy! He just squeezed his fat ass up through that tiny little driver window and left you all in there to drown!" My dad nearly shouted. "He must have thought that the bus was sinking and started panicking. He didn't help you kids get out of the bus? Where did he GO?!?"
It was my brother, John, who was spilling the beans about the bus accident. Mary was practically catatonic with cold, and kept muttering through violent shivers about how her poor book bag had gotten wet. My father, my mother and I had just picked them both up. We lived very close to the accident, and Helen Johnsrud saw it all and called mom right away. More robust than my sister, John's voice was still shaking with the onset of hypothermia, but his big blue eyes sparked with excitement. Unlike poor Mary, John was having a blast. He had performed quiet heroically, I had heard much later from Janice Moon, Mary's classmate. Helping her out of the bus, and to shore.
My brother answered him. "I dont know where he went. He left us all alone with the water seeping in. We all had to help each other out of the back of the bus, because he was already gone! Everything was sideways! He thought that the bus was sinking when the water started coming in the front door. He looked white as a sheet when it started tipping over! But I seen him! I seen him! He squeezed through the little window and left us all in there to fend for ourselves! Everyone got wet and full of mud because we had to help each other out of the back door of the bus...right into the water and mud! We didn't see him again until we were all on shore!" John was very excited.
"He didn't say nothing to you kids first? Like; 'Hey, I'm going to go call for help, I'll be right back...' nothing like that? He didnt make sure everyone was okay? He just bailed out?!?" Dad asked, incredulous.
"No." Answered John. "He turned white as a sheet when he saw the water coming in and then just scrambled out of that little window. The bus was sideways."
"My books are all wet! And my assignment is ruined!" Mary stammered. Her voice shook so badly that she could hardly be understood. Just heartbreaking; she had clutched her homemade bookbag the whole time that the bus was tipping into the lake. Probably why she hit her head. Mom had made that book bag just for her.
"What a coward!" My dad said, shaking his head. He'd fought the Japanese in the jungles of the South Pacific for years during WWII, and was the bravest man I'd ever known
"Coward....like Howard?" I asked, having never heard the word. This lightened dad's mood and he laughed. So did mom. She worked in the kitchen of the nearby Reno Inn bar and grill, owned by a man named Howard Watson, whom mom spoke of frequently. She thought he was a lazy moron and a drunk.
"No, Sweetie...NOT like Howard. Well...at least I don't think so. I've never seen how he acts after driving a school bus full of children into a lake, so I couldn't say for sure. 'Coward' means that your scared, or 'yellow' or 'chicken,' Sweetie. It's a new word for you!" She said. She kept me back from kindergarten that year and had me watch Sesame Street on a black and white TV in the kitchen. I was the last baby, and she just didn't want to let go of me. John had already taught me to read.
"We'll get the fire going nice for you two, and then you can sit by the stove and warm up! Mom will make you some hot chocolate for you." Dad said.
"It's okay, Mary." I said. "The teacher won't be mad at you about the books. It's not your fault; you're not the one that drove the bus into the lake."
"That's right, Mary, don't worry about your books and papers. The teacher will understand. I'm sure everyone's heard already by now. It happened right in front of Helen Johnsrud's place. She's a substitute teacher, and she's got a mouth bigger than Carly Simmon." Mom added.
"So who is the bus driver. This 'coward?' I asked John.
"His name is Roy. Roy Wicken. You should have seen him squeeze through that little window. I watched him. It was like a miracle that he squeezed through it! And FAST, too! One second he was there, and the next he was gone! He has a big ugly black beard. He looks like a villain in a cartoon!" John answered me. "Like Bluto on 'Popeye!"
"Roy Wicken is a coward!" Mary shivered. "He left us all in there to DROWN!" Her lips were so blue. I'll never forget it. I loved her so much, I remember wishing that I could beat up this Roy, guy. To avenge my beautiful sister. I'd eat some spinach, and beat him up. I silently vowed to eat all of my rutabaga from then on. I'd put extra butter on it, and I'd eat it.
"Okay we're home!" Dad said, pulling up. "Now run in and get changed out of those wet clothes! What a goddamned circus. I can't believe that chicken-s**t, Roy."
"His baby-momma, Patty Braaten, left him, you know." Mom stated. "Took the baby and left. Small wonder." Mom got all of the town gossip working at the bar.

So that's how I first learned the meaning of the word "Coward." This is a true recounting of a true story, as accurately as I was able to remember.
I'm writing this true story today for the sake of punishing Patty Wicken, who is a fake liberal and a psych ops agent for the local conservative media giants. She works a nauseating social agenda, hob-knobbing with dumb-ass, ineffectual local liberals, and mollifying them into kissing the ring of her fascist, extreme right-wing employer, KXRA.
They fired Tommy Lee because he was a liberal, meanwhile Patty has been nothing but a fake one all along.
Boycott fascist radio! BOYCOTT KXRA AND THEIR ADVERTISERS!!!

01/18/2025

BOYCOTT LAKE COUNTRY MEATS!!!

It's story time, so sit down and kick your shoes off, and I'll tell you a dastardly tale of my own personal mischief. It goes far to demonstrate just how sickened I am, as the son of a combat wounded, WWII PEARL HARBOR veteran, by what the misled, unpatriotic and ignorant supporters of law enforcement have ILLEGALLY done to the design of the US Flag.*
Case in point, one laughable local business owner, (who's about to lose it all, I hear) Butch C*le, who at times displays such disgusting and disrespectful altered flag design motifs in his greasy, grimy, gristley rip-off of a Right-Wing N**i butcher shop, housed in an abandoned gas station, complete with backed-up drains, on North Nokomis.
I took umbrage with his unamerican, fascist-looking store decorations, and...did some things. I can't tell you everything I did, but let's just put it this way: cameras don't capture much....and it's MY damn town, anyways, in any event, so it's my job to deal with this infestation of scum, riff-raff, and seditionist brainwashed MAGA D-bags. As the self-appointed defacto local rebel leader of Antifa, I'll handle it with whatever tactics I deem to be appropriate, legal or otherwise.
I also took umbrage with his former patronage of the despicable MAGATARD radio station KXRA AM 1490, and was touring Alexandria in the Combat Van, pulling my boat-sign around, and doing something about it. The big 16 foot long sign on the boat read differently than the sign in the photo posted here, but looked very similar in every other respect, in that it had the same style of lettering and what-not, same size and colors and such. The only difference being that it said "BOYCOTT FASCIST KXRA ADVERTISERS," instead of "ALEXANDRIA MINNESOTA REBEL NEWS."
I was traipsing around, hither and yon, dipping around the town, up and down, driving around, upsetting, upsetting, upsetting the town with my Scooby-Doo Van and big-ass counter-propaganda boat sign messaging. (I still call it the "Combat Van," which was it's Christian name before I borrowed it to my son and it came back looking like this. Now everyone calls it the "Scooby Doo Van." Great joke to play on dad, huh? Now everyone points and waves at me and walks up to ask me about my Cartoon Van. There's still a little package of vintage "smelling salts" in the glove box, in case anyone ever gets knocked the f**k out, so it's still a "Combat Van" in my heart and mind. The emergency ammonia inhalants never left.)
I was making many stops, that you would expect me to, parking in front of all the right-wing fascist sympathizer and collaborating shops that advertise with KXRA. The people of Alex were stunned and flabbergasted everywhere that I'd roll up. Right up in the middle of their lakey little lives; a direct ideological attack on the normalization of their quaint little fascist brand of right-wing extremism, that they pipe directly into the addled minds of these cretins on a regular basis through the AM airwaves, and I savored watching their complacent jaws drop upon sighting me and my eye-popping get up.
It's not my fault that they felt so hassled and intimidated by little old me, merely exercising my 1st Amendment Rights. Not a regular sight in this town. The most visceral and amusing reaction, and my proudest case of customized provocation, elicited a countenance, twitching and shaking with rage: Which was the reaction that I got from clowny little temper-boy, Butch C*le, the creepy proprietor of "Lake Country Meats." (Shown in the posted photo trying to look tough with a tooth-pick. Point of interest: the biggest, saddest losers in the world invent and attempt to promulgate their own cool-sounding nicknames. "Butch." Ooooooooo. Tough name you picked out for yourself, there, tough guy! Your real name is probably "Frances.")
So patrolling and doing my part for ANTIFA, I noticed the produce stand in front of Lake Country Meats. I'd been boycotting them for years. As a regular promotion, they used to stuff Patty W*cken and Dennis An*holt full of their greasy meats over the air, broadcasting live on their morning talk show, "Open Line." They sounded like they were being fed with funnels. Like they were trying to turn their livers into "Foie Gras," or something...the difference between them and the unfortunate geese of Quebec being their willingness.
"It's Friday! Time to slop Patty and Dennis!"...and the guttural symphony of smacking and gobbling would begin.
I listened to them squeal with delight before falling upon the proffered platters, the sounds of them slobbering and swallowing product after product filled the air. It became my regular Friday morning routine, until the sounds of their devouring gluttony became more than I could take. It disgusted me to the point that I couldn't listen to it anymore, and I shut it off.
So impolite: they were talking on the air with their wanton, Republican pie-holes packed full! They sounded like they couldn't shovel it into their gaping maws fast enough as they moaned with delight. You could barely understand their muffled propaganda anyways, with them trying to talk through all of that food, so after a while I stopped listening entirely, and shut them off forever, asking myself: Why? Why are you listening to this fascist debauchery? This is beyond opposition research! Stop subjecting yourself to this cacophony of gluttony! These opulent, bourgeois meat-gobbling slobs? These complicit, corpulent Kapos! You need to enlighten the masses! You need to SOUND THE ALARM! You need to FIGHT! You should be doing everything in your power to STOP THEM and their efforts to socially control and politically manipulate your town! Softening up the citizen's minds, readying them to recieve their brainwashed daily portion of afternoon AM air wave, low-brow Pubtard pablum from the likes of people like Phil Valentine and Rush Lumbaugh.

So, back to my Antifa patrol: I decided to use the pretext of making a purchase from the produce stand, in the parking lot, as my subterfuge and excuse for pulling into Lake Country Meats that September afternoon in 2023 with my Scooby-Doo Van and big-ass counter-propaganda boat-sign. My visit was timed to coincide with the busiest time of the day; when nearby Voyager Elementary School lets out.
I pulled up by the little produce stand, right out in the front part of the parking lot and right by the road, so that my signage was on full display: "BOYCOTT FASCIST KXRA ADVERTISERS." I exited the Combat Van with a friendly smile and approached the produce vendor in the shade of his brightly colored stand. I made as much small talk as I could before buying as little as I could get away with; a tomato. One tomato. I then continued malingering and loitering under the pretense of small talk while the van sat there prominently for all to see.
"How about those Twins? They sure know how to blow it, don't they? Yep. Just a farm team when you get down to it. Sometimes I feel like, if that's all that they're going to do, then they should just move the whole damn team down to AAA: They'd have just as much chance of winning the world series that way. Selling everybody as soon as they get good. That's why they keep losers like Max Keplar around. Man, these are beautiful tomatoes!" and on and on, ad nauseum, hoping to draw out the length of time that my sign would be on full display in their parking lot, and hoping to draw this as***le, Butch, out of the store and across the parking lot to the produce stand. It worked, because suddenly the short little s**t was right there at my elbow.
"What do you think your doing here?" He asked, incredulous. He was already worked up, just from my presence alone. I turned from my Twins and tomatoes talk with the suddenly uncomfortable, Kenny Rogers-looking produce vendor and answered him. "Don't worry about it, Jerk-face, it's got nothing to do with you.
"Oh? It doesn't, huh?"
"No," I countered, holding my tomato, "It doesn't: I'm buying tomatoes from this guy, so that's got nothing to do with you, or the boot-licker, N**i-looking Blue-line flags that you got inside your greasy, over-priced butcher shop , so run along and go try to play nice someplace else, where your less likely to get hurt."
"Oh ya?! Well what if I told you that I own this produce stand?!"
"You do?"
"Ya, that's right, I do!"
"Well....then I'd tell you that I want to return this tomato." I said, holding it out to him. I fully expected him to say "get f**ked," or "you ain't returning s**t," or "just get the f**k out of here..." but instead....he took the tomato from me! Out of habit or something, his gears shifted automatically from tough-talking schoolyard bully to principled shop keeper, catering to the customer.
"Ya, sure." He said. I handed it to him, and then he just froze, holding the tomato for a moment. He realized his mistake, and I beheld an intriguing blend of emotions rush across his face: Anger! Horror! Outrage! Defeat! Regret! You could practically hear his mind go "GOINK!" He stood there, seized in a conniption fit of rage, his face beginning to twitch and his limbs beginning to spasm....his will and his actions dissected and conflicted: He'd already taken the tomato back, and now he had to give me the money for it.
He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. His head started shaking and his hat almost fell off. He finally emerged from his paroxysm of angst, and then spoke in a steely tone, steadying himself with some effort. "I'll get your change for you, and then you're LEAVING!"
"What are you trying to sound like, Clint Eastwood? We'll see about that, because I do as I damn well please, you clown. I'm telling you right now that I'm refusing to leave, so maybe you should just call the cops on me. I'd rather talk to them than you, anyways, but don't worry about all of that right now, and just go get me my change, errand boy."
"OH YES YOU WILL! I'LL GIVE YOU YOUR MONEY AND THEN YOU BETTER STAY THE HELL OUT OF HERE...FROM NOW ON!"
He'd begun frantically digging in a glass jar of money, but couldn't get the correct coinage. It was at the bottom, and it was kind of windy, and I think he was affraid that his precious f**king money would blow away, cuz he suddenly gave up on trying to get the few coins from beneath all of the bills in that jar. When he realized that it wasn't going to work, he closed his eyes, slowly exhaled, and then spoke again.
"I'll be right back with your money and then you WILL be leaving." He said
"Just run and go get me my change, ERRAND BOY." I answered him again as he turned and stormed off across the parking lot to get me my correct change. He looked like a total cartoon boy. His wife, who had just come out, stayed on to keep watch. I said nothing to her. That was what they wanted me to do, so that they could say that I harrassed her.
"Jeez! What temper! He needs to take a pill or something! What a control freak and a psycho!" I muttered to myself in his absence, but loud enough for his wife and Kenny Rogers to overhear. God, that was fun. I was having such a good time causing his melt-down. He really hated that people were seeing my counter-propaganda posted up on his property. Finally he came back out and gave me my change after marching back over to us across the parking lot. (Why he didnt just round up, I'll never know. Couldn't stand the thought of me making money off of him, I guess) He honestly reminded me of Daffy Duck; back and forth and having fits like a cartoon.
"Now you take you stupid van and your damned sign and leave NOW! GO NOW! AND DON'T COME BACK OR I'LL HAVE YOU TRESPASSED!"
"Oh, ya?" I said, the prospect of him wasting $50 of his money hiring the cops to bring me a sheet of paper lying tantalizing close, I closed the deal. "Well, that's what you're gonna have to do, then, because I DO plan on coming back again! Whenever the hell I feel like it, mind you! And I'll drive my STUPID van and my DAMNED sign right up in here, and park it whenever I want! When you least expect it, too, tough guy! Then we'll have another 'Field Day.' We'll have a good old time, then! Just you and me!"
He was shaking with rage again. The hook was set.
"GET OUT OF HERE, I SAID!"
"I'LL BE BACK, I SAID, GODDAMMIT!" I got in the van slowly, and very slowly, I finally drove my Scooby-Doo Van and big-ass boat sign, emblazoned with my counter-propaganda, out of his parking lot.
So that's the story of how I cost the fascist Butch C*le $50 and a tomato sale, and damn near a stroke judging from his uncontrollable angry face spasms of rage and bodily twitching.

The point of this tale was to demonstrate to the reader that I am anything but a key-board warrior, and I can often be found directly in front of the actual faces of those that I am ideologically opposed to, right out there in the really real. He says I'm a "Keyboard Warrior." He, of all people, knows better.

And BTW: Read his wording in the trespass order that the cops brought me. Do you think he has bugs in his store and he's trying to pretend that we put them there? Or like, maybe someone saw REAL bugs, so he's trying to make it sound like it was just FAKE BUGS? Sounds pretty unsanitary, to me. Budgets are tight, people. There are classier places in this town that you can go buy meat at, compared to this dumpy old gas station. Wendy got filet mignon at Elden's the other day for just $12.50 a pound.
All of the other places are cleaner and cost less. You won't have to feel like a seditionist, turn-coat Trump supporter or blue-line boot-licker while you're shopping at them, either. I heard their drains are clogged up, now, too. Probably a lot of grease, and the exoskeletons of many generations of dead bugs. If he tries to clear those drains with pressurized equipment, like it sounds like he is planning on, then he could end up cross-contaminating the whole store. A fine mist of whatever coats the inside of his drains could settle over every product in that store if its done improperly or something goes wrong. Probably safer to just shop somewhere else.
* See Minnesota Statutes Annotated, 609.40 Subdivision 2 (2)

01/10/2025

ERIC MARTHALER: METH-HEAD TWEAKER WITH A BIG MOUTH.

01/03/2025

THE INSANITY OF JASON HUBRED!

Read in these documents how he physically assaulted his wife, Melissa (Hagedorn) who then filed for a RESTRAINING ORDER and also filed for DIVORCE. Read how he lost his mind and divulged intimate, sexual details about their marraige in emails to over 50 members of GRACE CHURCH. Read his delusional ramblings and emails to his estranged wife, who only wanted to be left alone. Read how he hilariously declares that "SATAN WINS AGAIN," and how Satan is "dancing and laughing" at him.

12/27/2024

It's unbelievable how the Douglas County Sheriff's Office and the Alexandria Police Department sets their priorities. They harrass us, going out of their way to drum up bulls**t charges for removing illegal signs from the right of way. Criminally charging us for removing what their own ordinances describe as a hazard to the public. To the point of obtaining a search warrant and raiding our home. Meanwhile, a car, parked illegally halfway in a HANDI-CAPPED SPACE in front of PUBLIC HEALTH and THE COURT HOUSE, is left to obstruct SNOW REMOVAL for nearly THREE WEEKS, right around the corner from the LAW ENFORCEMENT CENTER. (The car must belong to someone that they know, or some blue-line boot-licker)
Nice job, #117, APD Officer Burdette! Amazing job you're doing "Protecting and Serving," and making sure our society runs smoothly!

12/10/2024

DAVID LENTSCH, of Glenwood, WALLEYE POACHER! Some people just don't respect wildlife.

12/02/2024

EVAN GETTEL, of Osakis, Child Po*******hy charge!

11/27/2024

Here is the Defamation Lawsuit brought against Representative Mary Franson by Ex-Boyfriend Eric Harpel. It never made the news. She PAID him an undisclosed amount to drop it.
In it you can read about Franson allegedly cutting herself, threatening su***de, attempting su***de, abusing others, abusing anti-depressants, trashing her own house, and apparently providing sexual favors in exchange for financial support and house payments. Harpel also says that she expressed unfounded concerns about being stalked.
It is also alleged that Franson made many false statements in her application for an HRO, as well as illegally accessed computer files and deleted a bunch of damning information. It also says that she was engaging in promiscuous behavior.

11/23/2024

FREAK OF THE WEEK: Aly*sa Freder*ck

Here we have the restraining order and application, made against Alyss* by her own sister, Rams*y, just last June of 2024.
You may best recognize Alyss* as a prolifically ignorant Echo Press troll and rabid MAGA fascist. What you didn't know is that she's also, reportedly an untreated bi-polar (it shows) and a horrible and abusive sister. These documents more than demonstrate this.
Soon we will also post other restraining orders that demonstrate what a horrible daughter she is.

11/16/2024

JUSTIN LAMB CHARGED WITH SEXUAL MISCONDUCT AND CHILD PO*******HY!!!
Alexandria Minnesota Rebel News has obtained the Criminal Complaint. Filed today in Douglas County District Court.

11/09/2024

MIKE WOLFE, DOMESTIC ABUSE
This right-wing, boot-licking f*ckhead is very loyal to the cops and the courts for dismissing his felony drug charges and letting him get a little job at the local Wal-mart, where he was the head of security. Do you know this as**at clown? Slimy-looking f*cker, ain't he? (And that's coming from ME.)

Who would want to hire him to do their drywall? Or painting? Or let him inside their home? He's an abusive P.O.S. Just read using the documents what his ex had to say.

How do we KNOW that he's an abusive FREAK? What juicy little morsels and embarrassing tidbits have Wendy Hoff and I dug up? I'll tell you:
We have his ex-wife's application for an Order of Protection. This little right-wing PRICK likes to abuse women and children, as you are about to read!
Read here in these documents how he totally acts like a little spassoid and a power trooper. Stalking, threatening to beat and kill people, punching holes in the wall, and raising his little fists. Threatening self-harm, etc.. Threatening children. Threatening to "beat their faces in." Not so powerful, now, are you?
So enjoy the dirty laundry, my poisonous Alexandria kiddos! Until next week when we do J*son H*bred:
Congratulations, J*son, you scabby-looking f*ck! You're gonna be the next "Freak of the Week!" A moment which you've been waiting for for a very long time, but with a horrible twist for you, because it'll be YOUR ex-wife's application for an HRO that we'll be featuring, and it's sitting right here in my hot little hand, so sleep great, b*tch! (Oh, DRAT!!! "Satan wins again!"🤣😂🤣😂)

The Editor, Judd Hoff