The funny little Kamm creature has taken to trying to post anonymous comments on here, presumably so that he can have hissy fits on Twitter about how I am not allowing them up, just as he is having them about how his deranged article about me, one month old tomorrow, has had absolutely no effect whatever. It was published as a joke, and the joke is on him.
The accounts liking and retweeting his sad, psychotic bilge are clearly him under numerous alter egos that he may or may not realise that he has. Although he has also teamed up with someone whom I barely remember, and who seems to be doing perfectly well professionally, but who blames me for, oh, I don't know, something or other. The claims about him and me in Kamm's loopy effusion are the barmiest thing in it, and that is quite a feat.
Kamm is completely obsessed with me. He prefaces his increasingly frequent and hysterical rants about me with announcements of my unimportance, and he takes care to include a link that the newspaper that published it did not tweet at the time, having published the story as an inside filler four weeks after the event.
I used to be front page news, you know. I used to be on Look North, too; none of the broadcast media has mentioned me in a year. I used to be David Lindsay. In fact, I still am David Lindsay. I shall always be David Lindsay. And alas for him, Oliver Kamm will always be Oliver Kamm.
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