Last night Dana Falls entered the halls of legend. I've seen this before. I looked into the eyes of my daughter in law one afternoon and realized that little Jewish Body wasn't big enough to contain that spirit the world had come to know as IJackie. Dana put on Jackie’s shoes last night, and picked up the flag of truth.
The personality I dubbed “Beetlejuice” has been sparring with Dana for months. It started out simple enough. Beetlejuice wouldn't know the truth if it ran up and bit him in he ass. He grabs things out of the air that have absolutely no basis in reality. From huge offshore bank accounts to lunch dates with Donald Trump his imagination knows no limitations. According to him he has built mansions on Long Island, negotiated with the Mafia and instigated massive lawsuits that brought down the city of Samokin, New Jersey. Touting being a millionaire, a quick Google search reveals a net worth of $4,000 to $250,000 depending on which reading you accept. His criminal record is also easily attainable, and he denies it, but another very public search reveals his parole date.
He devised a plan to revitalize the town of Samokin, and approached the city council with a proposed budget of thirteen million dollars to follow it through. The council smelled smoke in his Samokin deal and said, “Naw!” Never to be one to miss a beat he then turned on a dime claiming to have “private investors” and accused the council of “setting him up.” He really missed his calling because his YouTube videos garnered about 80,000 views each. It wasn't bad, but he was no i Jackie.
During this series he became entangled with a conflict of interest involving a towing business and decided it was time to jump parole. You know, that parole he wasn't on, or really wasn't on or . . . well, you know. In a brilliant stroke he continued his video career taunting Federal Marshalls, that's right, FEDERAL marshals, and continued to do so until they slapped the cuffs on him in New York, and took him back to the calaboose.
When he got out he found his way to California where he devised something called “Rainmaker.” Wasn't a bad idea, real estate promotion, but the Murphy’s Law of Beetlejuice kicked in, and in short order he was “smoking” back to New Jersey with a new business plan. According to the Conservative Nation, his March for America marched to the tune of around ten thousand dollars for a “nationwide” effort to elect Donald Trump. Guess he told the truth because “The Donald” did win. This is my surprised face.
He still runs March for America with an iron hand. During his three hour rambling videos if anyone excuses their self to go to the bathroom they are instantly labeled a “troll” and shown to the door by loyal lemmings who are hanging on every word that proceeds from the prophet’s mouth. His feeds are a mix of plagiarizing Alex Jones and others intermingled with guest shots of his family lamenting murderous attacks on them, and a huge dash of legal threats against the group of Housewives from Facebook who have figured him out, and make no secret about it. The funny part is he's GOOD at this. All his story line consists of is a jailhouse rock employed by all convicts trying to make parole A little of this, a dash of that, and presto! Cow paddie pie!. While Dana Falls was pulling his underwear down last night, exposing his entire ass, he was doing a feed against her, me, and others, and there wasn't a word of truth in ANY of it! From vast estates on Long Island to saying the Federal Marshall's were “on the way” with the obligatory waving of the legal papers, of course. I was so upset that I tried to surrender today. Uh, if you will notice I'm back home writing this article instead.
I like Beetlejuice. I might owe this guy money. Book sales are rolling in, video hits are up, and every time he settles down I just stick a pin in his ass, and he fires right back up again. His trusty assistant, I call her Jane Hathaway, sits in some hotel room somewhere, and keeps the show going (Thank you Jane) and the Real Housewives of Facebook are on him like Micheal Moore on a ham sandwich. Life is GOOD! But, alas, all good things must end. Between failed T-Shirt orders and Mafia contracts this story will run its course and I'll move onto another story. He, I suppose will retire to somewhere that he has “offshore money.” May I suggest Columbia?
The personality I dubbed “Beetlejuice” has been sparring with Dana for months. It started out simple enough. Beetlejuice wouldn't know the truth if it ran up and bit him in he ass. He grabs things out of the air that have absolutely no basis in reality. From huge offshore bank accounts to lunch dates with Donald Trump his imagination knows no limitations. According to him he has built mansions on Long Island, negotiated with the Mafia and instigated massive lawsuits that brought down the city of Samokin, New Jersey. Touting being a millionaire, a quick Google search reveals a net worth of $4,000 to $250,000 depending on which reading you accept. His criminal record is also easily attainable, and he denies it, but another very public search reveals his parole date.
He devised a plan to revitalize the town of Samokin, and approached the city council with a proposed budget of thirteen million dollars to follow it through. The council smelled smoke in his Samokin deal and said, “Naw!” Never to be one to miss a beat he then turned on a dime claiming to have “private investors” and accused the council of “setting him up.” He really missed his calling because his YouTube videos garnered about 80,000 views each. It wasn't bad, but he was no i Jackie.
During this series he became entangled with a conflict of interest involving a towing business and decided it was time to jump parole. You know, that parole he wasn't on, or really wasn't on or . . . well, you know. In a brilliant stroke he continued his video career taunting Federal Marshalls, that's right, FEDERAL marshals, and continued to do so until they slapped the cuffs on him in New York, and took him back to the calaboose.
When he got out he found his way to California where he devised something called “Rainmaker.” Wasn't a bad idea, real estate promotion, but the Murphy’s Law of Beetlejuice kicked in, and in short order he was “smoking” back to New Jersey with a new business plan. According to the Conservative Nation, his March for America marched to the tune of around ten thousand dollars for a “nationwide” effort to elect Donald Trump. Guess he told the truth because “The Donald” did win. This is my surprised face.
He still runs March for America with an iron hand. During his three hour rambling videos if anyone excuses their self to go to the bathroom they are instantly labeled a “troll” and shown to the door by loyal lemmings who are hanging on every word that proceeds from the prophet’s mouth. His feeds are a mix of plagiarizing Alex Jones and others intermingled with guest shots of his family lamenting murderous attacks on them, and a huge dash of legal threats against the group of Housewives from Facebook who have figured him out, and make no secret about it. The funny part is he's GOOD at this. All his story line consists of is a jailhouse rock employed by all convicts trying to make parole A little of this, a dash of that, and presto! Cow paddie pie!. While Dana Falls was pulling his underwear down last night, exposing his entire ass, he was doing a feed against her, me, and others, and there wasn't a word of truth in ANY of it! From vast estates on Long Island to saying the Federal Marshall's were “on the way” with the obligatory waving of the legal papers, of course. I was so upset that I tried to surrender today. Uh, if you will notice I'm back home writing this article instead.
I like Beetlejuice. I might owe this guy money. Book sales are rolling in, video hits are up, and every time he settles down I just stick a pin in his ass, and he fires right back up again. His trusty assistant, I call her Jane Hathaway, sits in some hotel room somewhere, and keeps the show going (Thank you Jane) and the Real Housewives of Facebook are on him like Micheal Moore on a ham sandwich. Life is GOOD! But, alas, all good things must end. Between failed T-Shirt orders and Mafia contracts this story will run its course and I'll move onto another story. He, I suppose will retire to somewhere that he has “offshore money.” May I suggest Columbia?
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