Another Day, Another Azadibani Account.

I can't decide whether to pity Mr Azadibani, ridicule him or continue with the low level contempt. Why on earth would ANYONE set up eight accounts, trawl through my followers, trawl through my daughters tweets just to annoy me and seek attention? Really, why?  Is it a lack of friends (although on the evidence so far, detailing where he lives, he seems to be a father living in a lovely part of the world)?  Is it an obsessive compulsive disorder?  If so, take Sertraline, like other people. Is it, as I suspect, a twisted overwhelming desire to seek out women with opinions and at best belittle or at worst intimidate? Yep, I guess so. 

His latest drivel azadibani.wordpress.com seems to set out the case for open debate and discussion. PMSL, as my kids would say. 'I want open debate, from behind a series of anonymous Arabic/Jewish/feline/female facades."  I want to name and hold you to account, but I'm so ashamed of my opinions I'm not going to say who I am."

Having failed to convince me that @azadibani was a hacked account through his comments as Forest Biker, a further two accounts are set up. Firstly, Paula Smith tries to troll me and Bristol Jane, urging debate about the hijab, then John Cohen joins in telling me if I don't want to cover up, I should walk about in the nude. Eh!! Is there supposed to be a scrap of logic in this clusterfuck of awful? Oh no, sorry, I forgot, a man just tripping up on his own frothy mouthed hatred of feminists. Those bitches.  And the spelling! Jeez. Although as I'm pretty sure English isn't his first language I guess I should be understanding, but may I suggest spellcheck?  Although as I imagine him one hand typing furiously masturbating at his own cleverness that might tricky. 

Then @julieduhon appears. More garbage. More "knowing you" cods wallop. You don't know me. We've never even met, you delusional arsewipe. But unforgivably he provokes me by tweeting my daughter. The one he followed previously. That's it. Having been advised before, I will now seek police advice. But I have one suggestion for you Mr A. You want a debate, huh?  Let's meet up. Bring some mates. I'll bring some too. We can have a lovely chat. I promise I'll overcome my dislike for bourgeois expressions like freedom of speech to tell you what I really think. You won't though, will you?  You'll keep on with the one hand typing, the dreary tweets, the unintelligible blogging. You think you'll prove some pathetic point. You won't. You picked the wrong target sweetheart.