So, Nicole the Person Who Hates Government and Laws of Any Sort is telling us that “God” already told us who to elect to office.
And she tells us where “God” said all this.
What is in 1 Samuel 8?
Well, if you’re like me and you were raised in a fundagelical religious family and you were forced to memorize huge portions of the Bible and go to church three times a week for years and years, you already know what 1 Samuel 8 is about.
Remember? We named our son “Nathan.” After the prophet. You know, from the Bible.
Anyway, the chapter is the story of how the stupid Israelites decided that they wanted a king. What had happened is that Samuel (who was the prophet at the time anointed by God) had some sons and he made them judges over various parts of the land, and they were corrupt.
So the people got sick of the whole damn thing and decided that they wanted a king instead.
And Samuel tried to tell them that a king would be worse than his corrupt sons and goes into verse after verse about what having a king would do.
Here’s a sample:
He [meaning the king] will take the tenth of your sheep: and ye shall be his servants.
And ye shall cry out in that day because of your king which ye shall have chosen you; and the Lord will not hear you in that day.
So, the people say, “Fuck you, Samuel. We want the king anyway. Your sons suck.” [I am paraphrasing. The Bible actually doesn’t say “fuck,” but I bet the people did.]
And “God” tells Samuel, “Oh, well. Give them what they want.”
And “God” says something interesting as well. He says to Samuel, “Don’t be upset about this. They have not rejected you, but they have rejected me.”
In other words, the people rejected theocracy (rule by “God” or religion).
Nicole, by referring to this chapter, is advocating theocracy.
Not voluntaryism, or libertarianism, or “freedom,” but theocracy.
You can just imagine how this goes over with people like me. Samuel, of course, was channeling the words of a non-existent, made-up deity because he was trying to keep his sons in power. (That is, if there really was any Samuel at all—much of the Bible, especially the Old Testment, includes characters that are entirely fictional.)
Anyway, of course, the end of the story is that they crowned David king and everything just slowly went all to hell from there. Because the only good ruler is “God” and of course, since “God” doesn’t actually exist, the only good ruler is “God’s” representative and you can see how well that works out if you visit, oh, say, Iran.
But most of Nicole’s little followers won’t bother to look up the reference and most of them will just think of her as so wise and well-read.
I probably cannot convince you, Nicole, but yes, your shitshack is worse than that.
Your link, of course, is to a Facebook page that is highly biased against Child Protectives Services of any sort, any where. In following your story, which you and Joe wanted to “go viral,” I have been struck by how many of your followers are people who themselves have had dealings with CPS, and in almost every case, they are pure as the driven snow and did absolutely nothing to merit the attention of the state.
Makes me wonder how we managed to raise a son to adulthood, and home school him for five of those years, and never once had a single problem with the state at all.
Guess we were just lucky, huh?
Anyway, that money is not payment for “corruption” and “child trafficking.” It is money the federal government uses to help states, to use the federal government’s terminology, “incentivize adoption.”
Whether you understand it or not, there really are children out there who don’t have any family. Or they don’t have any family that is worthy of the name.
When your case came to my attention, I was so appalled by the whole thing that I had a wee conversation, over a beer, with a friend who is a deputy sheriff. I couldn’t imagine why the state would put your children back in those horrible conditions. It made no sense to me at all.
You know what he said? You wanna know?
He said that he’s seen so much worse that it would curl my hair. He said that the state is so overwhelmed with children who need to be removed from terrible conditions that they have to really do what amounts to triage. And that the ones who end up in foster care with parental rights totally terminated are usually those cases that involve drugs, particularly meth.
He said that if a parent in Kentucky makes the slightest effort, even a teensy one like buying a four-walled garden shed to replace a shitshack, that will be enough to get custody returned. Kentucky does not want your children. Kentucky wants you to pay the bill to raise your children.
I know your kids are cute. But there are a lot of cute kids out there. Lots of them. And Nicole, the truth is that nobody but you and Joe wants your children. Nobody. I’m sure that stings a little bit, but you need to face it. Nobody is laying in wait to try to take your children away from you. Nobody is frothing at the mouth in anticipation of spending the bazillion dollars per child it costs to raise a kid to adulthood.
[And I am quite aware that you will screen shot the above paragraph and post it so your followers can be all aghast that I would dare say that nobody wants your precious little darlings. You will be taking it totally out of context and you know you will be doing that, and I know you will be doing that, but you will do it anyway. You will not include the paragraph directly below where I say the exact same thing about my own child.]
We loved our son. We loved him beyond anything you can imagine. I know this because we would have moved heaven and earth before we would have allowed him to sleep on a plywood shelf in a shitshack. But we knew that nobody wanted him but us. He shared our DNA. So we thought he was the living embodiment of the greatest child ever born. Parents feel that way. They are driven by their DNA to feel that way. But nobody else does.
So, having established that none of us want your children, and that the state wants you to earn money and spend it raising your kids yourself, why are there funds available to “incentivize adoption”?
That’s because there are older children in the foster care system that are at risk of never finding a home. Every year, thousands of unwanted children reach adulthood and are never adopted by anyone. Some of them have behavioral or emotional problems that make it difficult to find anyone who wants them.
Remember, your kids are cute and nobody but you wants them. Imagine if they were not cute. Or imagine if one of them had cerebral palsy. Or imagine if one of them was on the autism spectrum. Or imagine if one of them had severe learning disabilities, or a good case of juvenile diabetes.
That money goes to help families who are willing to take children that nobody else wants, but that need expensive counseling (imagine the kid who watched Daddy kill Mommy), or expensive medical care (foster child right up the road from me needed and got heart valve surgery – he is officially considered “hard-to-place”). Or maybe the family is more than willing to adopt the hard-to-place child, but desperately needs for Mommy to take four months off work to get things ready, or to help the child adapt, only they cannot afford that, so they cannot adopt.
Adoption assistance exists to help parents afford the costs associated with raising a child adopted from foster care. By providing financial assistance to these families, the State and Federal subsidy programs minimize the financial barriers to adopting a child from foster care so that more children in care are placed in permanent homes and families.
From the PDF linked to above, Federal Adoption Assistance
It’s no different than it is with rescue dogs. Cute little puppies get adopted quickly. Older dogs more slowly. And older dogs with problems often do not get adopted at all.
Besides, aren’t you the one in favor of government being more about states and counties and local government, and less about federal government?
Or would you rather see little Billy, with his diabetes and partial blindness, just live in foster care until he’s 18? He can’t go “home.” His mother is dead, and his father is in prison for killing her. His relatives don’t want him and refuse to take him.
Hell, instead of having Baby #12, since the world already has all the Naugler genes it will ever need, why don’t you adopt one of those kids? You and Joe are perfect parents. Why not spread the love a little bit?
The love letters, along with the messages from “Jonathan Blakely,” were all sent via proxies. Thanks, Rumor Mill Chicketshit Fake Person, for that information that we already knew and had fully acknowledged.
My name is Sally Davis. When somebody sends me snail mail, they send it to Sally Davis, “address”, “city,” “state,” “zip code.” All those pieces of information are designed to help the postman deliver the letter to the right house, and after it’s delivered, to allow the people living in that house to give it to the right person.
That’s all an IP address is.
It’s a series of numbers like this: 22.214.171.124.
It gets really technical, but those numbers are sort of like the “address-city-state-zipcode” stuff we’re all familiar with.
And each computer or computer network has a unique IP address. So, when I sit at my computer or computing device, and punch in a URL, the computer sends a signal that I want to download the code that will generate the website in my browser. The IP address tells the hosting site where to send the code (data).
If the request came from my IP, then the data is returned to my IP.
So what can we know about an IP address or what can we find out if we know it?
Well, not a whole lot. Not nearly as much as people like Rumor Mill Chickenshit Fake Person wants people to think.
Here’s an IP address. (Mine, actually. I blocked out the actual numbers because my husband, again, asked me to do so.) If I take my IP address to an IP address locator website (Google the term, you’ll get dozens of them), and punch it in, I get this:
There are dozens of them. And you’ll get slightly different results from different locator sites. This one is saying that my ISP is Time Warner Cable (it’s not) and that I am in Monroe, Ohio (I am not). Not even close.
When we were on satellite internet, our IP address had us located in Denver, Colorado.
Why is it so wrong?
Well, it’s wrong because of the way we get internet access. Our provider buys bandwidth (or some other technical stuff that I barely understand) from a company in a nearby town, and they buy it from, I guess, Time Warner Cable out of Ohio. Or something like that.
Anyway, good luck using my IP address to try to locate me.
Sometimes IP addresses are a lot more accurate, pinning the location of the computer or device being used down to a particular narrow area, a city or maybe a couple of smaller towns, but they will not take you to a house at 352 Ivy Lane.
Let’s take the example I gave above.
That’s one of the IP addresses “Jonathan Blakely” used.
Now what in the hell is this?
It’s a proxy. Here’s how it works.
You go find a proxy server (Google the term, you’ll find dozens of them). Go to the website of the proxy server. Punch in the URL of the site you want to visit/view, and you’ll be taken there.
Remember the address thing? You put in the URL of the website you want to visit and the website host then sends the data back to your IP address and into your computer so you can look at it.
Well, every single website that I know anything about on the face of the planet records that shit. All my websites (I manage 6) automatically track and record IP addresses and length of visit, and how many pages the visitor viewed, and how long they stayed, and all sorts of other stuff—and I didn’t have to set any of that up. It came that way when I bought the hosting service (a hosting service is where you store a website so that the public can see it—it’s a monthly or yearly rental thing).
Anyone with a website can view their stats anytime they like.
It’s not about poking into other people’s business. It’s about marketing. It’s about knowing which page on your website is getting the most attention, so maybe you ought to imitate that layout. Or how popular is this sale I’m having, and are my actual sales mirroring the amount of traffic, or is there a problem and I need to fix it?
Or how popular is Nathan’s music in, say, Sweden and should we actively try to promote him there? (Answer: pretty popular, more than I would have thought)
But back to proxies.
Suppose, for some reason—you’re Rumor Mill Chickenshit Fake Person and you want to comment on the blog and taunt me and you don’t want me to know who you are because you’re embarrassed about your own opinions and ideas—you want to hide your IP address from my nasty prying eyes, you can.
Going through the proxy works like this. Your computer sends the request for the data to generate the website you wish to visit (the URL) to the proxy computer. The proxy computer then sends a request to the website. The website responds by sending the data back to the proxy server, and then the proxy server sends the data to your computer.
The website (this blog, for example) only gets the IP address of the proxy, not yours.
Sounds great, if you’re Rumor Mill Chickenshit Fake Person and scared to be yourself, but it has drawbacks. In some cases, images don’t come through correctly. Sometimes links don’t work. And it is lots slower. That’s understandable because the data has to travel all over hell and half of Georgia to get to you.
So, what is all this hoopla about IP addresses, and OMG, Sally tracks them and be afraid, be very afraid?
It’s a oft-used tactic to try to get people to stop commenting. The average person doesn’t know what the damn things are in the first place and hears “IP address” and is just sure they’re in trouble or something.
And then you get some stupid comment like this:
You can see how silly this is. It’s clearly and demonstrably wrong. And exactly how would Love Letter Writer (almost certainly Joe) “link” Lisa’s IP address with authorship of this blog?
Because Lisa has commented here, I have her IP address. I do. Nobody else does.
Fuck Nut is a good name for the Love Letter Writer (almost certainly Joe). A “reverse IP tracker” is just silly. It’s similar to the old *69 thing that you used to do on phones to find out who called you.
The thing is that when you look at this website, you are not looking at my computer. You are looking at data generated by my hosting service. I don’t even know where that is. The computer sending you the data necessary to generate the images that you are now seeing isn’t at my house, nor is it mine.
Okay, so an IP address is nothing scary. The bottom line here is this: Don’t be afraid of IP address threats. It’s bluster and bullshit. If you’re actively writing nasty threatening love letters, just stop that shit. If you’re commenting reasonably on a blog (any blog, anywhere), don’t worry about it.
And Facebook accounts don’t have IP addresses, so people who try to threaten you about your Facebook account are just bluffing and lying.
How can people use them?
Well, they can be used in the way I did on the Love Letter page to show that “Jonathan Blakely” and the Love Letter Writer are the same person. It’s remotely possible, of course, that those are two different people each using the same proxy server that they simply stumbled onto by total accident and both writing insulting stuff to this particular blog, but that’s doubtful in the extreme.
One other thing: If I can positively identify, for example, Lisa with a particular IP address, and if Lisa were to completely piss me off for some reason, and if I were the type of person who just bans people right and left, I could block her IP address and she wouldn’t be able to come here.
Only then she could just go through a proxy. Slower, yes, but it works.
Basically, they are almost useless except as a very broad, general tool to evaluate the success or weaknesses of a website.
So, which is it? Can I see all this great information and therefore know who is visiting here, or am I liar and don’t know shit? Make up your mind.
Yes, I put Statcounter on the blog. The counter number is incorrect though, off by more than 10,000 page views.
That’s because I did not put it on there until after I started getting the love letters and they began to escalate in ferocity. Statcounter gives me a bit more information than the stat software embedded in WordPress, so somebody who knows more than I do about all this suggested that I use it for my own safety. It had nothing whatever to do with trying to find out who anonymous posters are on this blog. I do not have Statcounter on my other blog because even though they’ve been nasty, nobody there has ever threatened my physically. The Love Letter Writer did.
Remember why I was anonymous in the first place? Because my husband was not happy about Joe Naugler’s criminal record.
So how do I know (almost certainly) that Joe wrote the love letters?
I don’t know if that software came embedded in the blog when she started it, or if she added it herself.
Sally Davis Nicole Naugler keeps track of user data on her blessedlittleblog “They Call Me Mom” blog. She is able to view and log various information about users such as your country, state, and city. Who your internet provider is. What pages you view. How long you read the pages. How often you come back. Any links you click on from her page. Any comment you make.
The coolest thing is to see how much of her traffic is generated from this blog.
Not pooping in white buckets disguised as a phony “composting toilet.”
A real, honest-to-God outhouse. With a hole.
Let’s talk about the safety issues first, and then we can get to making your outhouse site as pleasing as possible. First, the depth of the hole you dig is very important. The hole needs to be at least six feet deep, and not just to ensure a long-lasting site.
Studies on tapeworms show that they can move about five feet through soil, in any direction. This means that if your hole is only five feet deep, then the tapeworms can work their way to the surface where they can be easily contracted by pets and people.
See? A real hole. A nice deep one.
I am almost excited about this. One of the things that bothers me most about the Naugler situation is their obvious and ongoing lack of basic sanitation.
Are they gonna dig a hole?
There are two basic reasons that I can think of that people post links to their Facebook pages, beyond just “I think this is interesting/informative/cute and I wanted to share it with you.”
One is because you run into an article or link and you don’t have time to really look at it or read it, so you share it to your wall so you can find it later. Recipes, anyone? Cat videos?
So maybe Nicole is gonna actually read this article and then she’ll know all about holes and maybe supervise the digging of one.
Or maybe she wants everyone to think that they really do have a proper outhouse and see, here’s an article on how to maintain one, so quit talking about the white buckets.
Once upon a time (actually, in 1967), there was a three-year-old girl, the daughter of Ukrainian immigrants who had fled to America. Her parents worked for an evil woman named Cleo Smith. Cleo didn’t pay them as she had agreed, so the parents took Cleo to court and won.
Cleo, very irritated by this, followed the mother to the grocery store one day, and abducted the little girl in a green 1966 Cadillac.
The parents, named Ed and Elizabeth Tozar, were so intimidated by the US justice system (in spite of having just sued Cleo and won) that they just said, “Oh, well. . .” and didn’t report the kidnapping of their daughter. That’s why you cannot find a single word about this event in any newspaper.
Cleo, along with her handy-man sidekick Felix Lou Hanby -[Admin: corrected inadvertent error] (who, as it turns out, was actually legally married to Cleo), began to systematically abuse the little girl, who they called “Cathy,” both emotionally and sexually. Cleo was rich, and lived on a farm outside Philadelphia. She made her money by running a number of brothels in Philly. She also faithfully attended a local Baptist church for many years and was an avid fan of evangelist Carl McIntire.
As Cathy grew up, Cleo regularly pimped her out to men, almost exclusively to Baptist preachers, including every famous one you’ve ever heard of, and also to seminary students.
One day, when Cathy was about 12, she had to “entertain” Carl McIntire who raped her while Bob Jones, Jr (the then-president of Bob Jones University) watched. Dissatisfied with Cathy’s performance, Bob Jr refused to pay Cleo the madam, so in a rage, Cleo poured a pot full of boiling water over Cathy while she was sleeping. She was in the hospital for “months” with third-degree burns over 60 percent of her body.
After being released (in just four months), she was required to do all the farm work, including milking multiple cows and cleaning stalls and hauling hay and water for the horses, as well as taking care of the now-bed-ridden Felix, all before going to the private Christian school associated with their church.
A year or so later, after the hapless Felix died, the evil Cleo also died.
And Cathy was given to the pastor the church as a foster child and forced to live in the basement. When she was 18, he adopted her formally.
She attended Bob Jones University two separate times, never graduating. The second time, she lived in town, and oddly enough, had great problems paying her rent. She was evicted over and over again. Yet, she had no problem whatever paying her tuition.
In addition, she was diagnosed with terminal (stage IV) bone cancer more than 10 years ago. She has been undergoing chemotherapy off and on ever since, periodically appearing with scarves on her head because she has no hair, but miraculously regrowing it all in a matter of weeks.
She also has attempted suicide several times, with the most recent one being due to the fact that I publicly stated that I don’t believe her two days after the alleged suicide attempt. You read that correctly.
In addition, she spoke to the entire Pennsylvania legislature, telling her sordid little story, and moved them to tears, and as a result, they passed a bill stiffening penalties for human trafficking in her honor, calling it “Cathy’s Law.” (Only she didn’t.)
And the accounts are disjointed. You won’t find the narrative written out like I’ve done above. It’s all jumbled up and takes some effort to sort through and put in chronological order, which is why people don’t see how ridiculous it all is.
And this is what I said about it (in a private message no less), just about the part where she claims that she was raped by Carl McIntire while Bob Jr watched.
The bottom line is this. You always believe sexual abuse victims. You never, ever doubt a victim. They are always telling the truth. And even if they lie, it’s okay, because pathological lying is a symptom of past sexual abuse, therefore they are telling the truth. (Don’t worry. It doesn’t make any sense. I know.)
So, when the Naugler supporters found the Romancing site, which they absolutely do not understand, they grabbed a bit of it and began to chime in with the group over there.
Actually, that’s not true. These folks can’t read, or don’t take the time to read enough to know what they are talking about, but no matter.
I have a cult following. Who knew? Oh, and I own and/or administer or edit the following Facebook pages:
And that’s it. I have no fake identities. I have never had a fake identity.
LOL Of course. A “victim blamer.”
And isn’t that lovely? I’m a whore. May I rot in hell, because I think Cathy Harris is a liar.
I am not Suzanne.
Nicole, I have never once threatened you. However, your husband has threatened me with bodily harm and you knew he did it. And I am not harassing you. I am making public commentary on your public commentary. Please try to figure this out.
So, I’m a “nasty woman” who “harasses another woman about her sexual abuse and rape.” I’m awful and horrible because I do not believe Cathy Harris and because I decided to go after her publicly. She has spent years doxxing people and threatening them and doing all the sorts of things that people do to other people online to intimidate them. But she’s a self-proclaimed sexual abuse victim and therefore I am horrible to doubt her.
You cannot doubt a person who claims to have been sexually abused. If you do, you have “clear mental issues.” That’s what Nicole says.
The Second Story: Alex
That’s from one of Nicole’s blogs. It’s long. Here’s the short version:
Joe had a wee affair and a child named Alex was the result. Alex’s mother is unfit or something, so Joe and Nicole took the kid. Nicole was having miscarriages. Bouncing around from state to state.
Fast forward a bit and Nicole starts having the Blessed Little Family, in Texas.
They sent Alex to visit his mother in New Hampshire, and the evil relatives arranged for Joe to be stripped of his parental rights. This was totally not anything to do with Joe who was pure and a fabulous parent, but all due to evil relatives and the evil state.
And none of this would have happened if there had only been GoFundMe.
Joe and Nicole gave up. Alex grew up.
But Joe and Nicole totally wanted to reestablish a relationship with Alex. You know, for their children. For Alex’s siblings. And then follows a very cryptic weird statement about how she’d been “warning” the state of New Hampshire for years, and it’s all on their head. Note that.
And then a couple of poor us paragraphs.
But of course, then came the Blessed Little State Kidnapping, and the Blessed Little Court Hearing, and Alex appeared to testify that his father abused him when he was a child.
After the hearing, Brow said: ‘I got all the beatings. I got most of the mental abuse.
‘There was a lot of sexual abuse towards me. We had a very dysfunctional relationship.’
In the end, the court saw fit to ignore Alex’s testimony and give the Naugler children back to their parents.
Now wait a second.
Alex, my 19-year-old estranged son, testified in today’s hearing. We are both heartbroken with the way Alex’s upbringing away from us and his strained relationship with his mother have affected him.
That’s interesting. In other words, Alex isn’t being truthful and the reason is that he was raised badly because Joe didn’t raise him.
But. But. But.
I thought that if you don’t believe a sexual abuse/rape victim, you’re a “nasty” person and have “clear mental issues.”
Oh, I see. It was “hitting.” That was the only kind of abuse that Joe was accused of. “Hitting.”
And people are fooled by it all. Because we’re all stupid, and have disregarded anything except what Alex has said.
And Alex is clearly lying.
But here’s a bit from the “Story of Alex” in Nicole’s words, dated January 2013:
To have a family who loves you so much and to not know they even exist or that they care so much about you . . . I hope he is able to find it in his heart to contact us. I wish he knew how much we love and miss him.
There’s a nice tear-jerking statement for you.
He has 9 siblings here who know about him. Two that remember him. Its hardest on Jacob.. He was 3 when Alex was taken. For years I protected those involved. He knows the truth of it all. He is also patient. He knows he will see Alex again someday.
And this one. She just wants her kids to know their half-brother.
And here we have what her cryptic bullshit remark was about. She’s accusing Alex of sexually abusing his cousin. She doesn’t say how they know this. They haven’t spoken with him in 9 years, she says. Notice the date: 2010. Three years before the sorrowful “we just want our kids to know him” crap.
And Nicole contacted the state because she was all worried about Alex.
Well, actually she contacted the state because they were coming after Joe for child support.
My thought was if this guy cant(sic) hold a job flipping burgers how the heck can he handle a teenager with emotional issues.
But they hadn’t spoken with Alex for nine years.
Well, in the wake of all this, the Naugler surrogates and fakes began beating the drums.
The screen shot “off his page” is this:
Note the date. Alex posted that comment on May 3. The children hadn’t been taken yet. He hadn’t spoken with Joe or Nicole in 15 years, if I’m counting right.
And he makes an offhand comment about “out of sight, out of mind” and getting “slightly noticed.” No context is given. Nothing. Do you know how many teenagers feel just like that?
And that is grabbed as “proof” that Alex just made up the whole sexual abuse story about Joe for attention because he wanted to be on television.
And there he is telling his friends where they can see him on TV. So obviously, he’s lying for attention.
First, this page is almost certainly Nicole. And just read what is said.
Of course, Alex is just angry because he was robbed of having the wonderful childhood his half-siblings have had. He, too, could have shit in a bucket and lived in the Blessed Little Shitshack and slept on a large piece of plywood in the dead of winter.
And it’s all Joe’s mother’s fault.
Well, actually, Lawauna, you did. The claims are “bogus.” Alex made the claims. Ergo, Alex is lying.
There is more of this, but that’s enough, I think, to make the point.
Alex says Joe sexually abused him. Joe says that’s not true. Nicole says it’s not true.
And all the Naugler supporters clamor that it’s not true.
Either Alex is lying, or Alex is simply deceived and was told stuff happened to him that didn’t happen to him, but it’s not true and they do not believe it.
Why is it okay for Joe and Nicole and their supporters to vilify Alex publicly and call him a liar and an attention-seeker and it’s horrible and awful for me to say that I do not believe Cathy Harris? Alex’s story is plausible. Cathy’s is clearly and demonstrably not.
Why am I a “nasty” woman with “clear mental issues” but Nicole is innocent and has such a loving heart?
Did Joe sexually abuse Alex? Did Joe and Nicole physically abuse Alex (as in “hitting”)?
I have no idea.
I will tell you this, though. Alex’s story is not an uncommon one. It’s not something ridiculous like the Cathy Harris “I was kidnapped and raped by every preacher in America” story.
In fact, the child who is most at risk of abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) and death is the step-child. Throughout human history, this has been the case. Step-children are often abandoned, neglected, rejected, and sometimes murdered by their step-parent.
The risk is heightened when other children are born to the couple, because those children take priority. They carry the genes of both parents. The step-child does not.
But I repeat: I have no idea who is telling the truth about all this. I sort of doubt the “Alex molested his cousin” story, frankly. The rest is just anybody’s guess. And I suspect that is why the court did nothing about it. There’s no way to prove or disprove it.
But Nicole, you live in a glass garden shed. You really need to quit throwing stones.
As I mentioned on the “About” page, here is the entire conversation from my Facebook page between me and Joe (and a few other people). It began with the post above. Notice the time.
That post had been up for 12 hours before Joe began commenting, which was well before he ever started snooping about on my page. It wasn’t a new post. He had to scroll down a bit to find it.
Obviously, Joe is not commenting about the article. He didn’t even read it.
Because I have a very open Facebook page, I get a fairly regular influx of what my friends and I refer to as “butterflies” – people who are a wee bit strange. So Joe didn’t bother me at first. He was just another butterfly.
Notice how he snooped? He checked out everything he could.
And down at the bottom, a friend of mine who has nothing to do with the Naugler saga chimed in with the comment about the “special butterfly.” Even she realized he was bananas.
And Joe immediately turns on her and starts with the “liberal” label like that would insult either of us. He’s “definitely seeing a pattern here.”
I am a political liberal and atheist. So are many of my friends. That’s not a “pattern.” That’s just life.
Poor Joe. He’s being “libeled.” Only he isn’t.
At this point, Joe gets confused. A guy named Dave Davis comments (on the original article – he has no clue who Joe is) and Joe thinks that is my husband Dave.
Only it’s not, as I explain.
Highlighted in yellow, we have Joe’s ridiculous statement that he actually knew which Dave Davis is my husband. There is no way this is true. If you were on my page, looking around at my photos, you might see my husband Dave comment, but you’d also see my friend Dave comment, and unless you’re me, you would not know which person that was. It’s impossible to tell unless you are very familiar with their different profile pictures (and my husband changes his often).
But keep in mind that Joe saw fit to attack the person he believed was my husband Dave, and he did so for no discernable reason.
And Joe was gone by then. I didn’t remove him. He just left.
There were three red flags that went up for me that day. First, Joe is an internet troll and bully and liar. He came over to my Facebook to snoop around, based on almost nothing.
Second, right out of the gate, he starts an argument.
And third, he accuses me of “libel” without even knowing what the word means. His goal was to intimidate me so I wouldn’t comment about them anywhere again.
And later on, when I started getting the love letters, I realized that Joe was probably the author. It wasn’t just the IP address matchups. It was also the fact that after focusing like a laser on my husband, Dave, above, I get a a very special love letter.
On a day like today
We passed the time away
Writing love letters in the sand
How you laughed when I cried
Each time I saw the tide
Take our love letters from the sand
I have been collecting what I refer to as “love letters” ever since this blog started. I’ve delayed posting them because I wanted to get as many as I could, and also because the content began to morph so much that I wanted to see exactly how far it would go.
They have died down for a while now, and it’s time to go public.
I have been more or less anonymous, using the obvious pseudonym “Blessed Little Blogger,” not because I was afraid of anyone, but because my spouse asked me to do it. His concern was Joe Naugler.
Joe Naugler has a criminal record, a history of threatening people. Even now, Nicole and Joe both are very quick to talk publicly and often about “defending” their “rights” and they mean using guns.
That comment was made today (February 21, 2016). She’s made similar remarks before. And even though my husband does not read this stuff, he’s seen enough to be mildly concerned.
Remember, I’m not doing a single thing to these people but making public commentary about their very public commentary. The stuff they wanted to “go viral.” If they had not pushed themselves into the public space, I would never have known they existed.
But regardless, I agreed that I would make a more or less half-hearted attempt to remain anonymous.
When I first started this blog, I had no way for anyone to contact me except by leaving a comment. I knew this was inconvenient, but it worked for a little while. So the love letters began as comments.
Here’s an example. Obviously, the person leaving the comment was not Sally Davis. The email address is fake. The IP address is a proxy. The link is real. It was a message.
He was telling me that he thought I am Sally Davis and that Sally Davis has a blog at that link and that I should look at it.
And there was more of this sort of silly nonsense. I captured screen shots, saved the messages, and ignored it.
Then the messages changed a little because he really wasn’t sure at all.
And a whole slew of them at once. Manic stuff.
Somebody was convinced that the Blessed Little Blogger was not Sally Davis, after all, but in fact, Lisa Duran-Luthi. Because he’d somehow linked her IP address to the blog.
So I (or Lisa) was supposed to be afraid.
Sometime during this period, I set up a contact form so people could contact me privately and an email exchange would be possible, so I started getting love letters via the contact form as well as on the comment page.
They got the break they needed. At last. I was so glad to read that.
So, he’s good at his “job.” Really?
Right in the beginning of the blog, we had a commenter who was clearly a Naugler supporter who used the screen name Jonathan Blakely. His comments are almost entirely on the Barney page. In spite of the fact that he obviously disagreed with me vehemently and voiced his displeasure, he was not unbearably offensive, and I allowed his comments. I did do what any reasonable person would do and checked his IP address and quickly realized that he was using a proxy. [Note: I’m going to do a whole page on IP addresses because it’s a misunderstood subject and one people use to create fear, but that’s later.]
I gave him a little hell about being in Sweden on one post, and then being in London an hour later. He tried to explain that he was in Europe, which was obviously silly, but finally sent a note admitting the proxy.
But notice the love letter above his? That one, just like all the others, was not written by Teresa Frogue, but was a feeler thinking that maybe Teresa was the Blogger.
The interesting thing is the IP address.
Jonathan Blakely and the love letter writer are the same person. And furthermore, the love letter writer is in Breckinridge County, Kentucky.
Amazing. And remember, he’s “good at (his) job.”
But all this was just silly crap. It was no different than a lot of the silly stuff occurring on these various Facebook pages, with insults being tossed back and forth like popcorn.
Only then it began to change a little.
This one is saying, “We know your address. Be afraid of us.”
So, he started with the insults. That’s okay, too. I ignored them and stashed them away.
Right in the middle of this, they ran off a cliff with this photo. From the page on gardening, this is a photo, in fact, of my garden. I believe I said so when I used it. It’s my garden. I planted the potatoes in the foreground. The tripods in the far background are used for pole beans.
And the person who admins that page thought he’d “seen this before.”
Sigh. Make up your fucking minds, will you please?
And it bounced around.
But then it started to turn really sort of ugly.
What does that mean? “. . . she will be dealt with accordingly.” Dealt with? By whom? By an overweight unemployed dead-beat who thinks he can bully people using fake identities? I think not.
Say the people who live in a garden shed.
But it got a bit worse.
So, a complete stranger is going to punch two people in the mouth, when they aren’t even sure who they are talking to, and when the spouse doesn’t have anything to do with this?
Doesn’t this constitute a threat?
I mean, I laughed, but really?
And then it got even worse.
Read those again. The person writing this lives in Breckinridge County, Kentucky. I do not believe it’s Nicole, although I’m quite sure she knows all about these notes. I think it’s either Joe or the oldest son (the messages started not long after I refused to allow the son to comment on the blog).
The person isn’t really sure that he’s talking to Sally Davis at all. He’s sending out feelers everywhere trying to establish my identity but he’s not really sure.
And he says that shit. These are messages from a person who is a member of a “faith driven unschooling off grid wilderness homesteading family of 13 people, pets and a few random farm animals living a back to basics minimalist life.”
I am not a superstitious person, but if I had eleven children, I would be very careful about tempting fate like that.
His name was Nathan. He was enormously talented. He died on August 22, 2006 when he was thirty, in his sleep. It was not a “miserable death.” Nor was his death a suicide. Nor was he ever abused by anyone. And he was an atheist. There is no “hell,” and he is not “looking up” from anywhere.
Only, I wasn’t trying to imply that all of them came in that exact order. I was grouping them more by subject matter.
No matter. I aim to please and I certainly don’t aim to deceive. So, I went back and added a note with the date and time each one was received (if I have that information).
What you will notice is that they came sometimes once a day, and sometimes in spurts (the Love Letter author was especially busy on Christmas day). And they did, in fact, escalate in content, although that hardly matters.
The last one I got was the “punch in the face” one, at least as far as I can tell. And very frankly, that one was a line drawn in the sand as far as Dave and I are concerned.
Valerie, a personal note to you. You are more than welcome to come here and comment and disagree with me all you want. Anyone is. I don’t bite unless you call me names or say rotten things about my dead son or threaten to punch me in the face. Do you have good arguments to defend Joe and Nicole? Please, by all means, state them.
I’m not sure what you thought you were accomplishing with this great sleuthing insight, however, you did me a huge favor, so thank you very much. In looking back to find the dates on those, I discovered a bunch more that I had overlooked.
Here they are (I have blocked my personal email address from view):
The link there goes to a silly childish little gif that says “Canadians are weird,” meant to insult Denise, I assume.
And this link leads to another gif. I didn’t even bother to follow that one, so I have no idea what’s there.
With the Amazing GoFundMe Money, they bought a chain saw. They paid $900 for a chain saw.
I almost choked when I read that. We have heated our home (a real, actual house – actually, three or four of them) with wood. Not supplementary heat. Primary heat. We use the hell out of a chain saw. And we are not the type of people who buy junk for big tasks like that.
And we’ve never paid anywhere close to $900 for a chain saw.
But Dawn insists that is reasonable. And Dawn has all sorts of businesses (note that the word is not capitalized), including cutting up trees for firewood. So Dawn should know, right?
While Stihl does make a higher end model, and you can pay upwards of $1000 for a Stihl chain saw, the one they are using in the photo is not one of those high end models. It’s one of these. That chain saw didn’t cost one dime more than about $600 max.
Because Nicole has absolutely zero experience with any of this, I am going to give her the benefit of the doubt here and speculate that perhaps she is simply not remembering correctly what they paid, or perhaps she is adding up all the money they’ve spent on chains and buying a new bar.
Or perhaps Joe went and bought the saw without Nicole and lied to her about the cost.
By the way, we have owned a Stihl chain saw since 1999, for more than 16 years. We have used it to cut enough firewood to heat homes in two different states in very cold weather conditions. Massive amounts of firewood, many cords. Much more than the twigs the Nauglers cut. They have had their saw since what, June? July? Less than nine months?
And we have never purchased a new bar. Ever. New chains, yes, of course. But no new bar.