It’s always easy to tell when one has touched an exposed nerve in this column. You dangle the bait and along comes another rantallion to bite.
Neuroses often take bizarre turns; such is the case with “Eric Bahrt”, an alleged “real name” and a sheep in sheep’s clothing. Here we have a modest man with much to be modest about. Being habitually short of ideas, he falls back on the philosophy of the flaccid idiocracy, typically impugning me and others from behind the safety of his keypad, and with not one scintilla of verifiable evidence to support his bad-tempered accusations.
He won’t, of course, ever allow himself to be confronted with regard to his swivel-eyed nonsense. Impressively, though, he apparently has met Thai people “who have (allegedly) praised him for (his) letters”. Gosh, has he really? Conversely, as Churchill would again have had it, he’s the kind of bull who carries his own china shop around with him. I intend to devour a medium-rare steak tonight; in the manner of the historically dubbed “Sir Loin”, I am going to call it Eric.