Hungry Phoenix realtor Greg Swann declares victory in battle against "HP'er morons"

Boy, this guy really is delusional.

I've grown bored of the guy - it's obvious now he had one goal - to drive traffic to his realtor website. So hopefully this will be my last post on the loser. If you want to see how bad Phoenix real estate must be, just ask yourself why this guy isn't out conning people or selling homes. There are no more suckers left to buy, and he has barely any listings to manage. Career change coming up for Greg Swann (do you want fries with that).

Arguing with the dolt is like arguing with a flat earth society member. HP'ers posted all kinds of great data about the Phoenix housing meltdown, but I guess Swann chose to ignore all of that. He also got his lonely realtor buds to post about the war, thus driving more traffic to his site.

At the end of the day though, anyone, ANYONE, considering doing business with this scum would run the other way now. Swann is simply a grotesque, misinformed, dirty little boy, not a professional, and his blog reflects that. The fact that he doesn't even own a home himself, and has only been practicing real estate in Arizona for a year should show you what an amateur we were dealing with in the end.

Remember HP'ers there's a million hungry realtors out there now. And they're pissed. So we could take our fight to all million of them, or we can keep our aim on the NAR and REIC. I choose the latter.

Here's today's posting from the loser Swann. Anyone so inclined please feel free to keep after the guy, but he bores me to no end.

So: Keith puts on a predictable pantomime of outsized outrage, heavy on the high-moral dudgeon. And the mouth-breathing morons zoom in to BloodhoundBlog to poke around at random and issue inane comments — heavy on the profanity, light on the grammar.

There’s more, but it’s all nothing. I told Keith in advance that it would come to nothing. The original post stands. Forever will it be known that the modus vivendi of Keith at Housing Panic is Masturbating to Armageddon. If the jack-off had any sense, he’d steal it like every other joke I’ve written for him. It would make an excellent title for his autobiography, “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Note also that I am unscathed. I stood alone — really the only way I know how to stand — against everything Generalissimo Foghorn Leghorn could bring to bear, and I bore no injuries. Keith has never laid a glove on me and he never will.