November 04, 2008
missing me
I was meeting remotely with one of my writers, which means that even though we were in different locations, she was watching what I was doing on my computer. Mail from a longtime troll came in, which was perfect, because we would rather look at anything other than the crap on which we were working.
"Did you read my post today?" I asked first. She had. "Okay, check this out. I just got mail from someone who will have completely, utterly, psychotically missed my point."
I brought up the mail. Its author had completely, utterly, psychotically missed my point. She instead refuted at length some point I had not even known existed, let alone made.
"Holy cow."
"Yeah."
"Did she even read it?"
"I think she angrily writes while skimming."
"She's nuts."
"These are my readers."
posted by john at 09:53 AM • solamente
October 16, 2008
for tammy
For sullen Stank troll (is there any other kind?) Tammy, I offer my go-to methods of cheering myself up when I'm down. These work every single time, and some of them are even free.
- Surfing real estate somewhere other than Seattle. I think this would probably work for only me, but boy, does it ever perk me up. Unless I look at Pittsburgh, where I've never seen a remotely attractive house for sale.
- Fatboy Slim's "Weapon of Choice" video.
- Planning a trip. Closely related to the first option, but easily attainable. Even modest road-trips are marvelous breaks from the realities of work and roof repairs. And as I've said before, if I want to hear "I love you," all I have to do is drive my car two hours in any direction from downtown Seattle.
- "The Ref." No matter how depressed I am, this movie about a burglar (Denis Leary) taking hostage a viciously argumentative married couple immediately puts me right.
- Sam Kinison performing "Are You Lonely Tonight." I first saw this when I was freshly dumped, and it was a warm bath of catharsis. Available on the Best of Johnny Carson DVD.
- Helping someone I love. Awwwww. Flip side: hurting someone I hate. If there's anything as gratifying as helping virtue triumph, it's helping evil smooch a steaming pile of dog shit. Pucker up, Buttercup.
posted by john at 08:48 AM • solamente
September 30, 2008
meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow
Responses to the beautiful ex survey ran the gamut from "Hell no, it doesn't bother me. I'm here and she's history" to "I'm here and she's history. Hell no, it doesn't bother me."
Okay, so there were a few fringe votes. And there were the obligatorily baffling, misspelled "What question do they think they're answering?" responses. But the "hell nos" were the overwhelming majority. And the timbre of the explanations did gibe with my own notions, although that could just be observer bias on my part.
I love women. Adore them. Predicated my entire life around them. I especially adore them when I compare them to the alternative, for whom I have no use beyond mowing my lawn. But collectively, and quite easily, womankind's least attractive quality is how they treat one another. Sister-on-sister crime is relatively rampant—men simply don't knife one another for sport like this—and it's this perception that led me to this hypothesis: she likes having beautiful predecessors because it means she "beat" them.
I will now pause to allow the knives to fly. Tell me I'm wrong. Please.
posted by john at 08:25 AM • solamente
September 11, 2008
laura
"What movie character is your ideal (or most ideal) woman?" writes virgin Stank troll Gaylord. And no, that's not a pseudonym.
Tempted as I am to go with Rachel McAdams in the scene in Wedding Crashers where she plays football, I cannot. For they snapped the ball and her princessly gait betrayed a woman who hadn't run to so much as a bus stop in her life.
So I'm going to have to go with the Laura character in High Fidelity. What a strong yet loving character. You hate her for the first half of the movie. She's dumped the protagonist. He's heartbroken. She's moved in with another guy. Hate hate hate. But then she reappears. She stumbles upon our hero's Top Five Dream Jobs list and asks why "Architect" is #5. Wouldn't you rather be doing what you're already doing than be an architect? she asks. He admits she's right. While he watches in silence, she erases "Architect" and scribbles "record store owner" on his list.
And the hook is set. That's exactly what I want from a partner. At least until I get it.
posted by john at 07:57 AM • solamente
August 13, 2008
i stand corrected
Last week I said "If there's anything more satisfying than finding a deer eating your roses and shooting him in the ass with a pellet gun, I don't know what it is."
Longtime Stank troll Sean replied "That would probably be #2 on my Most Satisfying list. No. 1... finding a cat in mid-squat, taking a shit in your Lantana and Mexican Sage, and shooting him in the ass with a pellet gun, your heart swelling with joy and laughter at the sight of him sprinting away, howling, with a half-inch of turd protruding from his butthole."
Yep. These are my readers.
posted by john at 06:26 AM • solamente
August 07, 2008
smokestacks
Reader response to my post about lying has run the predictable gamut, from where do you find these people? to the dubious I don't associate with liars, so I wouldn't know. I humbly suggest, sir, that you're just not very good at spotting 'em.
Stank troll Marta, among others, points out the ethical implications of checking out stories one does not believe. This is indisputable. It's crossing a line. Also indisputable is that I have never crossed the line in error. The few times that ludicrous explanations have reached such critical mass that I decided to look deeper, I found exactly what I was looking for. It doesn't feel good to prove someone you love a liar. It's devastating. It's utterly heartbreaking. But the years afterward do tend to be remarkably free of self-doubt.
posted by john at 06:49 AM • solamente
July 25, 2008
reader mail
My mail this week fell into four categories:
- Whole Foods does suck ass. This king wears no clothes.
- Are you available for catering my party?
- Why on earth did you date Poor Sarah, again?
- Here's what you do with your arm while spooning.
Exactly three women suggested that my "other" arm be stowed under the woman's neck. I'm not sure if my female readers have Bluto necks or if their men simply have Olive Oyl arms, but in either case, this solution ain't working for me.
posted by john at 07:05 AM • solamente
June 30, 2008
why sarah
You've asked me a lot of questions about Sarah in recent weeks, each of them some variation of "Why were you ever with such a lying hussy?" Only you didn't say "hussy." I cuted it up.
Good question. I will now attempt to provide an answer that doesn't make me look like a complete fool.
Anyone who meets Sarah adores her. She's self-effacing, articulate, funny, sparkly, sweetly vulnerable, and genuinely interested in whoever she meets. These are attractive qualities in their own right, but when embodied in a pretty girl, it's a perfect storm. She makes a ridiculously good impression. Male or female, you adore this Sarah, and until November or so, it's the Sarah in whom I religiously believed.
That Sarah was the one who initially opened up to me over margaritas, who bravely told me about all the ghosts that haunt her, about her lifetime filled with fear. Every guy she'd ever been with was downright mean or psycho. Parental neglect, spousal neglect, physical danger, sexual abuse and confusion—it was all covered. Poor Sarah. Poor, poor Sarah. And over the course of that evening, I felt unprecedented feelings of love and protectiveness toward this woman. I vowed to always have her back. She held my hand and cried. We would both later say this was the moment we fell in love.
"Jeeeeeeeeeesus Christ," said Allie at the time. "Why doesn't she just change her name to 'Poor Sarah' and get it over with?"
Months passed. I'd already started to detect whiffs of self-pitying bullshit ("What exactly did Josh do that was psycho, again?" I asked). Then along came The Gender Neutral Physical Therapist and my attendant suspicions. By 2008, I sensed she was hiding things, but she was doing a curious job of it. During an all-too-frequent eruption of self-pity that I'd come to call her Poor Sarahing me, for instance, she said she'd told "Rich who I consider a new friend" all about her ghosts. He'd remarked on how remarkably remarkable she was for having endured all that.
"How charming," I smoldered to myself. "Rich had his very own margarita moment. I wonder how many times she's tapped that particular well?"
That's when the cracks really started to widen. That's when I started to think "Gee, that sounded an awful lot like a lie" with alarming regularity. But I ignored my instincts. I did so for two reasons: 1) I very much wanted to believe in the best Sarah I'd observed, not in the mounting evidence of a worser nature, and 2) I'm a firm believer that trust is an integral part of the partner-vetting process. Yeah, I was starting to suspect that this is a woman who feels entitled to sleep with whomever she damn well pleases, but what of it? Even if your trust is betrayed, well, that's still a successful vetting.
"Never violate a trust you intend to keep," reads John's third law. And so I did not spy on her, even though my instincts (and a few friends) were screaming for me to. I plowed ahead and did my best in the relationship, but I was not naive. I knew she was self-vetting. I knew she was lying. (She's a pro. I actually identified 18 distinct types of lies in her repertoire. I could write tomes about her deception playbook and entitle it the Sarah User's Guide.) I knew she wouldn't leave until she had a warm bed to land in. And she did. By astounding coincidence, it was exactly the bed I'd asked her about, and that she'd denied, the night we broke up.
"You're, like, totally psychic. Got any stock tips?" Allie asks.
Emphatically denying her new relationship to me (in person and by proxy), Sarah paradoxically integrated herself into it as quickly and as publicly as possible. The conflicting motives, I presume, are a desperation that I know one Sarah and that everyone else knows another—a Sarah whose blots like me are erased from history. One thing I know for certain: because I had the temerity to exist when she wanted to fuck someone else, I've become mean or psycho. Probably both.
Make that 19 types of lies. And counting.
posted by john at 04:49 AM • solamente
May 21, 2008
great moments in troll correspondance
I just found myself writing this to a female reader:
"I'm sure it looked for all the world like you pile-drived into his privates."Yep. These are my readers.
posted by john at 11:17 AM • solamente
March 19, 2008
reader mail: oh, just let me dream
When I started this site in the 90s, I had to explain to many a troll that "checkraise" is a poker term. Then I had to explain that "poker" is a card game I like to play. And then 2003 happened. TV poker became a fad, and millions of psueoker players came out of the woodwork, and I was suddenly inundated with requests to sell my once-obscure domain.
Yesterday's inquiry was no different, except that it came from a poker agency who
- represents an unnamed client interested in buying my domain and whose short list of clients, it turns out, includes
- Shannon Elizabeth.
posted by john at 09:09 PM • solamente
February 06, 2008
reader mail: the golden boy
Distinguished Stank troll Amit writes of a Super Bowl experience far worse than a "we-ing" girlfriend.
I was watching the big game the other day at a friend's house when I realized something that may interest you--all the girls in the room were rooting for the Patriots because Tom Brady was "so cute" and "dreamy" and "a hunk" where all the guys were going for the Giants b/c the Patriots were cheaters and Tom Brady is a douchebag that (probably) cheats on his girlfriend and leaves her for a supermodel when said girlfriend gets pregnant. The girls looked right past these obvious flaws. It was quite an interesting dichotomy, one I wonder if was present at Super Bowl parties across the country.
Amen on the cheater douchebags, Amit. Meanwhile, did anyone else find this repugnance to be true? I'd call it ugly gender stereotyping except that I've seen it more often than not at Super Bowl parties.
Not to mention that the day a woman is actually attracted to the virtues that she says she's attracted to, I'll feel bolts of pain in my left arm and keel over. Sorry, ladies, it's the one gender bias to which I subscribe. Oh, there's two: I don't think most women should have jobs where they have to make announcements into a cheap P.A. system, either. Absolutely piercing. But that's it.
posted by john at 06:56 AM • solamente
January 23, 2008
reader mail: four things
I glared at the oncoming road. "I hate my readers."
Allie chortled and drove on. No more really needed to be said. She knows.
"I really, really do."
You routinely call me, among other things, a fascist Bush apologist and a bleeding heart pinko. I've long considered my personal Holy Grail to be a single post that elicits both responses. So far, the closest I've come has been consecutive posts. I'll keep trying.
Monday's Four Things post achieved a sort of fame, though, in that it inspired seemingly opposite reader vitriol. No one could pass your tests, read some. No wonder you're a miserable fuck. Yet others took exception to the notion that anyone they have ever met would lie to them, fail to stop an animal from being abused, or have friends whose affection amounted to no less than a Nobel Peace Prize in homage.
To the former group, I say that these are indicators, not tests. If this were a test, I would fail too. There are no scores; there's no passing or failing. Get over your notions of judgment and think of this as anthropological observation. It's where someone falls on the continuum of human failing, and how they respond, that interests me. Over time, I've come to believe these four bits of data about a person tell me far more than the sum of their parts.
To the latter group, I obviously have nothing to offer. Go in peace. Or in contempt. The important thing, really, is that you just go.
posted by john at 08:01 AM • solamente
January 09, 2008
reader mail: ed and the whales
One of the many "Ed" responses to last week's "What should I write about?" survey suggested that, if possible, I should write about both Ed and whales. Only one such story is possible, but for what it's worth, here it is.
It was 2005. I'd been reading reports about a half dozen orcas who had been raising hell with the seal population all over Hood Canal's 70 miles. I'd gone looking for them several times, but even enormous underwater animals proved damned hard to find overwater. At this point, it became a grudge. I packed my idiot dog and her food into my boat and resolved not to come back until there be whales.
Ed was a grudging partner. She tolerated the boat. It was something she did because I, not she, enjoyed it. (Enter a blowjob joke here.) But she was game, and after a fruitless day of searching we moored at a slip at the south end of the canal and spent the night. She was relieved that the constant pounding of the boat relented for a time.
The next morning we set out again, and within five minutes we saw a furious, violent thrashing in the water ahead of us. There was no doubt that we were not only seeing the orcas but that we were seeing them hunt. I stopped several hundred yards away. These were mammal-eating transients, not the tofu-and-sprout-eating local resident orcas. I dropped my hydrophone into the water, and Ed and I listened to their excited chatter. And then they noticed us.
Two enormous adults headed right at us, repeatedly breaching into the air as they lunged in a straight line toward my increasingly tiny boat. I did the math.
Boat: not quite 2000 pounds when wet.
Two mammal-eating orcas: 24,000 pounds.
I fucking hate math. As I called in the sighting and attempted to film the action on my camera, the whales went all Jaws on me, plowing through the surface of the water, like torpedoes bull-rushing the side of my boat. I cannot begin to explain how primal your feelings become when a carnivore this huge and powerful takes such an aggressive interest in you. You feel utterly fragile and so, so slow. Yes, I knew they weren't going to eat me. And I knew they probably wouldn't sink me. I knew these things. I just couldn't feel them.
I watched them plow all the way to the side of my boat. I never saw them veer. I braced for the inevitable impact. Ed, meanwhile, noticed the whales and hung herself out the side window. And just before the first whale glided gracefully under the boat—with a wad of bloody, pulpy seal remains visibly clenched in her mouth like a gum bubble—she rolled to her side to look at my idiot dog. Her eye couldn't have been a yard away from Ed's dangling legs and head.
Ca-righst. Does Ed look like a seal hung on a hook? The whale wasn't scoping me out, after all. The two females headed off into the sunrise, chattering away, perhaps speculating about the hairy, curiously retarded seal they'd just seen. And I realized I was supporting my weight with my arms, lest my knees collapse.
Here's a clip of me calling in the sighting. I'll warn you now that my camera's 30-second limitation kicked in just as it was getting interesting. This clip is more remarkable for demonstrating Ed's aforementioned retardation.
posted by john at 06:03 AM • solamente
September 10, 2007
reader mail: pivot questionnaire
From dubious Stank troll Jenni comes a delightful request: "Your royal Stankship," she begins, "Would you, per chance, deign to answer the Bernard Pivot questionnaire?"
Maybe it was the butt-kissing, more than the request, that was delightful.
What is your favorite word?
Anything with the suffix "-tard." It's my all-purpose insult. "Seatard" is probably my most used such insult because, well, in Seattle I'm surrounded by them.
What is your least favorite word?
"Dysfunctional." As in family. Wally, I've seen shit that would turn you even whiter. Get over yourself, grow up, and take ownership of your own problems already.
What turns you on?
Competence.
What turns you off?
Pretense. See "Seatard," above.
What is your favorite curse word?
"Fucktard."
What sound or noise do you love?
The Michigan football team being booed in their own stadium.
What sound or noise do you hate?
My boat hitting a submerged log.
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Private investigator. I can't believe they get paid for surfing the Web. And for sitting in a car, eating Cheetos and stalking other people's spouses. I'd truly be making my hobby into my job.
What profession would you not like to do?
Anything on the Vista team at Microsoft. See "competence," above.
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"Surprise, motherfucker."
posted by john at 06:57 AM • solamente
August 14, 2007
memo to a gender
Stank troll Jean checks in with a doozy.
"If your wife has been telling you for four years that you're neglecting even her nominal needs (and how), if she's begged you to go to marital counseling and you made her go alone, if she recently said she 'feels done' and is inclined to move out (and your response was to say if she'd just have sex with you, everything would be better)...if you've done these things, here's a tip: helpfully leaving her a shiny new copy of Dr. Laura's 'The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands' is probably not going to get you laid."Bravo, brother.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
posted by john at 01:23 PM • solamente
August 02, 2007
guest post: troll invasion
It had to happen eventually, I suppose. I met one of you. Rather, I had one of you barge into my life and stick your outstretched hand into my face. The following guest post is written by longtime Stank troll Chris, who is now my—sigh—co-worker. The unedited version was even longer. You're welcome.
I've heard John's name a number of times, but I've never had a formal introduction. John's "mentee," Elizabeth, was responsible for pointing me at checkraise, and over the last few years it has held a position of high esteem next to many other, and equally worthy, curmudgeons on my RSS feed.
After my recent transfer, his name began popping up more often. This time it wasn’t coming from Elizabeth; the writers on THIS team knew him too. And when they said his name it mostly wasn’t preceded by “That fucking…” or followed by “...the miserable bastard.” They liked him. I’d transferred right into a lair of followers, sycophants, and former co-workers (including my manager, who John described to me as “the most exhausting person I've ever met.”). My fate was sealed. I knew then that I’d get my introduction in short order. Or would I? After a few weeks of never seeing the guy, I had to ask of his whereabouts. "He only comes in once every few weeks,” I was told.
Yesterday he showed up. I was told he was "in a meeting" but it’s probably okay to drop in and say hello.
Folks, I’ve read this blog for some time now and I knew that barging in would likely be a bizarre situation. Aside from a few emails, this guy doesn’t know me from Adam. I’m neither fan-boy nor sycophant, but I had to introduce myself if only to combat the preconceived notion that nobody in Seattle is pleasant or can carry on a conversation with a total stranger. His congenial nature is well known. I was sure he’d appreciate the gesture.
I found him in his boss's office. I was to leave soon so it was now or never. With a knock on the door, I was let in.
Me (extending handshake): “Pardon the intrusion but I thought I’d introduce myself while you’re here - otherwise you’d think I’m a complete bastard.”
John (accepting said handshake): “Okay.”
Boss (looking disturbed and confused): “You know this guy?”
Me (as usual, I begin to over-explain myself): “Yeah we know each other through a circuitous combination of friends and acquaintances.”
(John shoves the door into me. )
John: “Okay, now, FUCK OFF!”
SLAM!
In under two minutes, I'd managed to coax a FUCK OFF out of John and it took nearly no effort on my part. The look on his boss's face as the door closed? PRICELESS. It’s exactly what the U.S. Military was hoping for when the phrase “Shock and Awe” was coined.
So now we’ve met. Elizabeth’s world is likely crumbling down around her. I was only disappointed in that I didn’t have enough time to show him pictures of my children.
posted by john at 06:00 AM • solamente
June 08, 2007
reader mail
The Fetardation post elicited much mail, all from annoyed-to-enraged women who rather missed the point. I don't care if you attract these men. Really. Knock yourselves out. I don't even want an admission that they're after you. I know they are. No, I just want a morsel of respect occasionally tossed my intelligence's way. Oh, and if you could stop vilifying me for noticing the creeps trying to ply their way into your pants, that'd be swell. Amen.
posted by john at 09:03 AM • solamente
May 02, 2007
one last sequel
Remember this post, in which I railed about every one of the links in Bob's Top 5 being represented on someone's site—with one notable exception?
The offending site's offending owner is, it turns out, a Stank troll. She was rootin' through chestnuts this morning and found that old post. I've since been added.
Validation, surging!
Hmm. I'm last and Minette is first.
Validation, waning.
posted by john at 11:30 AM • solamente
April 28, 2007
tender venom
When trolls link to my site, it usually includes a face-saving qualification.
"I don't agree with everything he says, but..."
Cowards.
I'm used to that. Esteemed Stank troll Char took it to an elegant new level the other day, however. Since this week is kinda meta anyway, I thought I'd share.
I have been reading John for a few years now. He’s so funny and opinionated. He and I used to work in the same organization, but I can’t really say I know him. What I can say is that in his blog he takes a no holds barred approach to social commentary. Sometimes he really lets loose with some appalling venom and I sit there with my mouth gaping open. Then, he’ll turn around and write something so poignant and tender.Upon reading this, I seriously considered renaming this site "Tender Venom." A fantastic name. If I'm ever a pro wrestler or porn star, I'm going with it. The "appalling" part took me aback—if I thought a notion was appalling, I wouldn't publish it—but a quick survey indicates that I'm in the minority there. So. Um. Thanks.I don’t know if others “should” subscribe to his feed. He’s not interested in saving the planet and he’s not trying to win any “nice” guy awards. He is good for a laugh, he shares pics of whales, and despite his hatred for some of his ex-girlfriends, he seems to really appreciate women.
I will take exception with the part where I'm not interested in saving the world, though. Not every cause can be solar power and freeing Tibet. Someone has got to take out the trash. For as long as rich old white farts (ROWFs) drive 38 in a 55, I will be there, offering to cut up their licenses. For as long as Seahawk fans celebrate their own magnificence, I will be there, offering to cut the price tag off their Starter jerseys. For as long as parents babble about the thrills of table-walking, well, I won't be there. But when other parents try to impose their religious views on that kid through the schools, you'd better believe I'm there. For as long as people lie, mooch, preen, pose, posture, or claim victimhood or greater enlightenment, I will be there, for you, smiting them as best I can.
Just tryin' to save the world, one asshole at a time.
posted by john at 07:44 AM • solamente
April 09, 2007
“liahr!”
Recrimination was swift. Says angry Stank troll Minette: "You’ve told me five of those lies!"
posted by john at 08:57 AM • solamente
March 26, 2007
mailbag: jesus checks in
"No one wants to read all your tiresome Jesus-bashing," says a dully representative piece of reader mail from fundy types. He then proceeds to tell me what everyone does want to read.
Is there a more fascinating psychological phenomenon than the capacity of the religious weird to take enormous (and self-serving) leaps of causality? It's their superpower. If you don't want their religion taught in your kid's science class, you're intolerant. If you're uneasy about the war, you hate freedom or the troops. If you have nothing in particular against gay marriage, you want to destroy the family. And if you mock the attention-whoring excesses of fringe religious types, you're bashing Jesus.
Stop confusing yourselves with Jesus, please. He'll doubtless thank you for it. If you read carefully, or if you have a friend with two ganglia rubbing together who can read carefully to you, you'll see that I've never, in fact, bashed Jesus. Just you. And despite how loudly and misspelled you assert the contrary, there's a gaping chasm of difference between these two parties.
For that matter, you're hardly "everyone," either. On Jesus' and everyone's behalf, I ask you to kindly stop the impersonations. Don't make us get a restraining order.
Syrupy Stank troll Karen send in this comedic take on the Bible and religion. It's an odd combination of mocking and affectionate, and God looks and sounds disturbingly like George Lucas. The part where "Dad" hands Jesus a drawing of a crucifixion, and Jesus' stunned expression, was priceless.
posted by john at 07:07 AM • solamente
March 15, 2007
mailbag
One of my favorite things about hosting this site is receiving interesting links from interesting folks. I suppose it stands to reason that Stank readers would be discriminating readers, indeed.
Speaking of people who are intellectually ill-equipped for self-assessment, I defy you to read about this study of incompetence without thinking of specific co-workers. Courtesy born-a-once Stank troll Aspeth.
From Stank troll Larry comes this bit of, ah, candid feedback on technical documentation, especially interesting to people in my profession. I'm mulling over how fired I would be if I showed this to my writing students.
And this awkward bit of Michigan humor comes from head-sucking Stank troll Amit. (Crawdads are practically insects, you know.)
Which reminds me, on this day, the beginning of March Madness, I must acknowledge the single greatest moment in tournament history. Bless you, Chris Webber, wherever you are, for providing what's still the hardest laugh of my entire life.
posted by john at 10:22 AM • solamente
February 11, 2007
reader mail: anna nicole
Involuntary Stank troll Katrina writes to say that although she agrees everything I said about Anna Nicole Smith being a gold-digging corpse-humper, I let the corpse off easy.
He was an equal partner in slime, and he was in his right mind. He knew exactly what the deal was.I disagree. He exchanged cash for sex, and he got laid. She exchanged sex for cash, and it's someone else's cash now. Advantage: corpse.
Esteemed Stank troll Sean writes:
I'm wondering whether Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, Nicole Ritchie, et al. will be wearing their panties at half mast in tribute...Wouldn't this require that they first put panties on?
posted by john at 05:51 PM • solamente
January 12, 2007
atheitards
Stank troll Elin, who could not possibly be as hot in real life as she is in my imagination (right), poses a challenge. She tells of an trend among young atheists. They record footage of themselves renouncing the Holy Spirit, encourage others to do the same, and post it on YouTube. How, Elin leadingly asks, does this gibe with my validation theory?
Answer: all too well.
I really don't see a difference between this monkey-see-monkey-do, "have you posted your renunciation yet?" movement and a monkey-see-monkey-do, "have you been baptized yet?" one. Although self-described opposites, all of these people are followers. They are not content to walk quietly with their beliefs; they must have their beliefs heard and echoed by others. And what's the difference between watching atheist YouTube clips and watching TV religious services? Between atheist meetings and Christian churches? To me, none. It's all so much mutual masturbation. Want to distinguish yourself intellectually? Seek out someone who doesn't already agree with you.
These folks doubtless see themselves as opposites, even mortal enemies, but to me they're all just different flavors of needy.
posted by john at 10:40 AM • solamente
December 03, 2006
mailbag: gridiron edition
Far too many Trolls have written me to ask a variation on this question: "I haven't seen any Steelers games this year. What happened? I mean, seriously, what the fuck?"
My standard answer: "Nothing that a heart transplant wouldn't fix."
Sometimes your team isn't very good, and you learn to live with that. This year is something new, though. At the midpoint of the season, the Steelers were 2-6 and the only team ranked in the top six in the league in both offense and defense. This cannot happen without serious stupidity, bad luck, or bad breaks, and the Steelers had plenty of each. The way they were losing games was no less epic than the way they won them last year. They routinely outplayed opponents, then gifted them the game in the most moronic way imaginable. Even if you tried to predict the worst possible outcome of a crucial play, they'd snap the ball and show you how much more imaginative than you they are. Picks for touchdowns, ricochets for touchdowns, fumbles for touchdowns, penalties that nullified touchdowns. Roethlesberger had three interceptions that bounced off receivers' hands in one half, two of them returned for touchdowns. That stuff happens in football, yes, but not every week, and every game is turning on some such fluke. Their concentration is poor, the coaching ineffective. Theories about causes abound, from Roethlesberger's offseason accident and surgeries, to a lame duck coach, to a Super Bowl hangover. I believe them all. The team is an embarrassment to themselves. They play with no pride. Heart donors wanted.
Stank Troll Gretchen asks if I wanted a rematch with Michigan in the championship game. Hell yes. We can't beat Michigan enough. Alas, now I'll be rooting for them to eviscerate USC in the Rose Bowl. For once, the Wolverines are on the side of good and light.
A hearty congratulations to the University of Florida, who won a much-deserved shot at my Buckeyes in the championship game. I wish their fans luck finding tickets. Tempe is going to be quite scarlet. Florida, meanwhile, has a chance at doing something that I don't think has been done in my lifetime: championships in football and basketball in the same year. (Further, OSU and UF are 1 and 2 in football and 3 and 4 in basketball, so a "rematch" in March is even possible.) Ohio State, meanwhile, already the only team in history to have beaten two #2 teams in a season, will now try to beat a third. History will be made either way.
Which, I might add, is two more #2 teams than USC and its media sweethearts have faced in their three-year "dynasty" period. Yes, yes, I know, they had to face the mighty Cal-Berkeley every year. Truly terrifying, they. They should start calling that game "The granddaddy of them all."
As much as I would have liked to have seen Ohio State paste USC 55-3, I'm delighted that the media conspiracy to hype them into another undeserved championship scenario was thwarted by (chortle) UCLA. I watched the ending of that game over and over, just to see the look on Pete Carroll's face. "Fire my publicist!" the look said.
posted by john at 06:18 PM • solamente
November 20, 2006
mailbag

From newbie Stank troll Ken: The college cheerleader of the week is Tara Warrens, from "The OSU". Now, she's a cute, athletic-looking young woman, and I fully realize that I'm old enough to be her father (shudders). My only problem is a photo in the latter stages of the pictorial, where she's with another cheerleader. What the hell is that metallic "sculpture" behind them? Is that on the campus of OSU? Is a representation of the sun's heliosphere? The solar system's Oort Cloud? If it's based on something on this planet, what is it? A piece of fruit? This curious mind wants to know. Can you help?
Stank: It's been a long time since I wondered what the hell a sculpture on OSU's campus was, but I remember the question was chronic. I used to name them. I'll see if I can find a photo of "Shit Angel." In the meantime, I have no idea what your sculpture is. I'd guess a buckeye nut, except that they have no protrusions. Which brings us to its name. I hereby christen it "Buckeye with stem and puffy areola."
Troll Joy: I just finished reading your "ballad of greg biekert". Now, I used to have a big CRUSH on Mike Tomczak, and when I lived in Chicago, I was mystified as to why my (now ex-) husband had a Mike Tomczak action figure cum voodoo doll. He used to attack the thing with ferocity during Bears games. He could not make me understand why. I think I understand better it now.
Stank: And I think I understand why your marriage failed. Your ex-husband sounds like a cultivated man. Unlike my readers.
Troll Jean: What's with the attack on liberals?
Stank: Several readers took exception to my term "the ditzy left," while others saw, correctly, that "ditzy" was a qualification. I'm not calling liberals ditzy. I'm referring to a feeble subset that's ditzy. To summarize: Joe Biden is not ditzy. Nancy Pelosi is not ditzy. Patty Murray? Ditz. Sean Penn? Ditzoli.
Paraphrasing the great P.J. O'Rourke, when I speak of the "ditzy left," I'm not talking about Democrats or liberals or even kind-hearted people. I'm talking about people who get genuinely excited about 2% of the proceeds from the sale of Ben and Jerry's going to promote world peace.
Which reminds me of another great O'Rourke line: "Republicans are the party that believes that government simply does not work. And then they get elected and prove it."
Distinguished Stank troll Bob: Do you ever feel so excited by an upcoming game that your thoughts turn to poetry?
Now for a cheer they are here, triumphant!
Here they come with banners flying,
In stalwart step they're nighing,
With shouts of vict'ry crying,
We hurrah, hurrah, we greet you now,
Hail!
Far we their praises sing
For the glory and fame they've bro't us
Loud let the bells them ring
For here they come with banners flying
Far we their praises tell
For the glory and fame they've bro't us
Loud let the bells them ring
For here they come with banners flying
Here they come, Hurrah!
Hail! to the victors valiant
Hail! to the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! to Michigan
the leaders and best
Hail! to the victors valiant
Hail! to the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! to Michigan,
the champions of the West!
We cheer them again
We cheer and cheer again
For Michigan, we cheer for Michigan
We cheer with might and main
We cheer, cheer, cheer
With might and main we cheer!
Hail! to the victors valiant
Hail! to the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! to Michigan,
the champions of the West!
Stank: You're on quite a roll, Bob. Please root against the Ohio State basketball team this March.
posted by john at 06:56 AM • solamente
October 25, 2006
time to homo sapiens up and face this thing that’s like a quagmire, only more of a deliberate trap
Don't say "homo!" say the trolls of my imagination.
Reaction to my defense of calling a spade a spade continues to trickle in. Heartwarming, it is, to again be reminded that people are just people. Black or white, rich or poor, young or old, male or female, we are all united in our one overarching goal: to be the most offended. To beat someone else over the head with the club of our own moral superiority. It's clear that my attempt at dialogue on race and language has degenerated into a competitive game of Outrage! New, from Parker Brothers!
Ah, unity.
It's a dark day indeed when on this page I quote Marky Mark in Planet of the Apes.
"Everybody shut up. That goes for all races."The most fun part for me: in one ear, being called an oblivious white guy who doesn't understand the harmful effects of calling spades spades; in the other ear, hearing from Oblivious White Guys (OWGs) who don't think there's anything wrong with saying, well, pretty much anything. I especially enjoyed their equating my spade with the poor, misunderstood Confederate flag.
Pardon me while I scratch. I'm suddenly itchy.
We're talking about apples and anvils. I know I'm me and not you and am therefore not entitled to an opinion, but I propose that any reasonable discussion starts with an epithet taxonomy. Here's mine:
- Type 1 The presumed epithet. These are expressions that predate slavery, that have no discernible history of being used as epithets, yet are mistaken for one. The fallacy of equivocation is at play, here. Example: "calling a spade a spade."
- Type 2 A Type 1 that came to be used as racial epithet. Example: "tar baby." (Also, interestingly, the n-word. The most hurtful word in English started out as a mere mispronunciation of the Spanish word for "black.")
- Type 3 At least partially racist origins, post-slavery. Example: the Confederate flag. Sorry, but when the Idaho Klan uses it as a symbol, there's not much room for the "it's only about Southern pride" argument.
- Type 4 Unequivocatingly racist, post-slavery. No one who uses these terms denies racist intent. You know what the terms are.
Reader reactions have overgeneralized in polar ways. OWGs maintain that any attempt to deem Type 1 "racist" forgives the use of 2s and even 3s. Charming, no? Meanwhile, others don't distinguish between types at all—for me to protect Type 1 is for me to endorse them all, to say that words don't matter.
To be clear, my original point was merely that Type 1 words didn't belong with the others. I'll now add that their inclusion undermines the discussion. I thought, and still strongly feel, that it's a dangerous over-correction to go out looking for expressions to pronounce "racist." When they achieve Type 2 status, I'm all for revisiting 'em. Sensitivity is called for. Language does hurt, even kill. This dialogue is important and should continue, vigilantly and objectively. This is what I was attempting to do when I got pummeled.
Since that post, I've learned two things. First, OWGs cling to easy targets (like this overreaching exercise given to dorm residents at the University of New Hampshire) as evidence that any dialogue on language and racial sensitivity is silly and fruitless. That is not, however, what I see. I see an noble effort sabotaging itself. I'll argue that by ditzily scrambling innocent Type 1s into their examples, the exercise's authors—almost certainly well-meaning and white—completely undermined their own credibility and, ironically, engendered resentment toward minorities. Want proof? Read my mail. You will see misspellings you never imagined possible.
Meanwhile, several black readers were surprised that, when I'm told that my language is racist, I hear "you're racist." They took great pains to explain that we're talking about racist language, not people, but I'm unconvinced. Is it really that far of a stretch? When I say that someone's statement is "stupid," does that not impugn his intelligence? When I say that his comments are "evil," does that much allow for sainthood? I see precious little distinction between "someone who says racist things" and "someone racist." These folks could, of course, reasonably counter that they're only responsible for what they mean, not for what I hear. But then that argument would extend to garden tools, now, wouldn't it?
posted by john at 10:33 AM • solamente
October 16, 2006
worst. mail. ever.
Esteemed Stank troll and Chicago Bears fan Shelley writes to say: enough about the stadium and parking, what did I think of the Bears game and fans? My reply:
The Bears fans were fantastic. Very knowledgeable and respectful, passionate and loud. The knew more about the Hawks than I did. They're very studious fans. And yeah, it was electric. There was an aura of "pinch me, we're better than we'd dared dream!" to that crowd. The Stillers aside, I'm pulling for da Bears this year. They're most deserving.And how did Shelly repay my kindness? By telling me that she found my site by googling her teenage crush. She writes:
Yep. Mike Tomczak. Your “unspeakable bastard” was my 15-year-old-hormone-riddled-brain, cute football quarterback fantasy. Hey. I will admit that he was LESS than spectacular as a quarterback, but you have to admit to a 15 year old girl he was ever so cute. He was a model for god’s sake.I don't have to do nothin' but stay white and die. There will be no such admission. And doesn't the Bible teach us that the antichrist will be handsome? That would make sense, 'cause it's suddenly feeling like the end times.
posted by john at 07:52 AM • solamente
September 22, 2006
mailbag part deux
All right, now we're talking. It turns out there's nothing as motivating as my comparing y'all unfavorably to myself. Here, at last, are a few examples of unselfish kindness.
I observed a manager taking responsibility for her report's screw-ups, for no reason other than to deflect blame from the report at promotion time. Yes, for this and all instances, some will assume the worst and say "She's just trying to get into heaven," or whatever cynical motive they reflexively ascribe to people. (Perhaps in order to excuse their own selfishness?) Given this manager's sheepish humility, I believe in the purity of motive. She simply chose to be inconvenienced so that someone else wouldn't be clobbered.
A woman's car was hit, and the fellow left a note. Perhaps he was afraid of being caught, perhaps not. But the woman is moving mountains not to involve his insurance company, to protect this stranger, and there's nothing whatsoever in that grief for her.
A man chose to buy the more expensive of two like items, so that a less well-off person could buy the cheaper item.
A reader writes at length of the way her freshly widowed mother put her own needs aside in order to attend to everyone else's. "My mom had things she needed to do, preparations to be made, not to mention her own grief to deal with. But she spent the whole day of her husband's death taking care of everyone else who loved him."
A disabled woman took in her adult niece, babysitting the niece's two small children and supporting them, because the niece's own parents are too selfish to help.
A man replanted his elderly neighbor's gardens after teenage punks tore them to shreds for kicks.
A different breed of teenager used his grass-cutting monies to travel from Indiana to New Orleans and help dig it out.
Dorkass watched what Frank Frank wanted to watch on TV.*
See? This isn't so hard.
*I might have made this up.
posted by john at 10:19 AM • solamente
mailbag
Several readers wrote to ask if the Marge story was true. Alas, only her name was fake. In fact, she called be a day later to ask if I needed a ride back to the mechanic. So lovely to hear her melodious voice again.
Here are the results of my challenge to name an instance of human kindness untainted by self-interest: bupkus. Oh, I heard from readers, but the overwhelming response to my plea was a scolding—the problem lies with my fantastical expectations, not with human beings being unduly selfish. Thanks for the beatdown. It really mitigated my disgust with people. Other readers thought I had posed some sort of paradoxical Zen koan thing and waxed about how kindness is an inherently selfish act.
I call bullshit. I make decisions every day, without fanfare, with remorse, to address someone else's needs at the expense of my own. I'd assumed we all did that. Usually the cost to me is trivial; sometimes it's not. I'm now not sure why I bother. Reading your responses depressed the hell out of me, frankly. I had assumed—desperately hoped, even—that I was not among the finest specimens the human race has to offer. I certainly shouldn't be. But the majority who wrote took a synchronized backward step and left me standing alone, the unwitting volunteer.
God help us all. Satan, even. Whatever works.
posted by john at 08:02 AM • solamente
September 03, 2006
mailbag
Esteemed Stank troll John was the first to respond to my challenge to find an example of human kindness untainted by self-interest.
"How about I just build a huge fucking suspension bridge, instead?"
posted by john at 08:37 AM • solamente
reader challenge: find a human being who isn’t a petty, selfish waste of carbon
I couldn't be more disgusted with people, lately. I'm sick of the entire species. The lying, the cruelty, the moral cowardice, the dishonorable self-interest. I'm tired of those who blame others for their own foul-ups. I'm tired of those who piddle themselves for others' approval. I'm tired of those who lecture others on matters they know nothing about. And I'm tired of people who would sooner throw you to the wolves than inconvenience themselves trivially.
There. That covers just about all of you.
I challenge my readers to submit examples of human kindness not tainted by self-interest. And good hunting.
posted by john at 07:37 AM • solamente
August 23, 2006
dear stan klanders
For lack of any other inspiration—would W kindly speak off-script to some reporters soon?—I shall answer random mail from trolls.
David: yes, Dirt and I are still coming to Iowa for the Ohio State game. I canceled my Pittsburgh/Austin trip, though, as the whole point was to see the Steelers' ring ceremony, which ended up taking place in April. Little did I know that the other game on that trip, Ohio State at Texas, would end up being #1 against #2. Oops. Let's hope Ohio State is still #1 by the time I see them in Iowa City.
Erica: flyless boxers. At about two weeks without doing laundry, I wriggle into some high-school era tidy whities, which fit really interestingly now.
Beyonce: yes. Oh sweet God in heaven, yes.
Rachel asks what I do to combat depression. First of all, I don't drink. I figure the last thing your body needs when you're depressed is a depressant. I cut out caffeine, too, hoping doing so will help with sleeping. Then I pop in "The Ref" DVD. That gleefully hateful movie has never failed to snap me out of the bluest funk.
Browns fan Dan asks if there's anything I dislike about the Steelers. You might think this difficult to answer, but it's really not. I think monogamous sports fans spend almost as much time resenting their team as they do loving them. For starters, I dislike Heinz Field. I hate its dinky, crammed, mustard yellow seats. And who thought buffalo wings were a good football stadium food? Who are they, and where do they think all those bones are going? I dislike Steeler fans' zealous preoccupation with the quarterback. I hate whatever inferiority complex compels them to whine endlessly about not getting any respect from the national media. I could go on. I won't.
Sick of me writing about football? Me too. Ask me about something else.
posted by john at 12:09 PM • solamente
July 11, 2006
reader mail
Probationary Stank troll Jason says that white dudes should not shave their heads. "Not ever. Never. Never. Never." Now I know I'm gonna keep the head shaved. Don't ever tell a white guy what he can't co-opt from black men, Homes.
Esteemed Stank troll John takes issue with my characterization of him as the Supreme Arbiter of All Things Masculine. "I work in a flower shop, for chrissakes," he says. So yes, the man knows gay when he sees it. Further evidence: when I shaved my head, I received from him an email with the subject line "White guys should not shave their heads. Period. That is all." I replied that he is now officially an ex-girlfriend.
Heretofore unknown troll Kym wants assurances that the pictured patterned blue socks and brown sandals are not mine. They are not. They are, in fact, the footwear chosen by one of the screen slayers, hence further corroboration of my leading theory: blindness.

My favorite mail comes from esteemed Stank troll Jan of Germany, a new father. He writes:
"We do have a newborn son! [No, don't flame right now, there is more to come; a new twist to the "we've got the most unique wonder child of them all" theme]. When the nurse laid the baby before me, I saw this:
And my very first thought about my newborn son was "And why is John going on about his newly found crease? This one's got it from day zero! So my first reaction was to relate him to some blog I occasionally read."
Finally, a "new baby" story with some interest value!
posted by john at 07:14 AM • solamente
July 05, 2006
reader mail
Esteemed Stank Troll (and supreme arbiter of all things masculine) John asks:
What possesses you to not only save your luvvy duvvy emails, but re-read them? Like a little lemon juice in the paper cut, m'boy?A fair question. I've saved all email since 1995. I'm on my second DVD backup, now. Why do I do this? To win arguments about what was said, of course. John also asks:
You ARE kidding about the screen door.... right?Sadly, no. Nor am I kidding when I tell you that their blaming of the door continues through this morning.
posted by john at 10:48 AM • solamente
May 03, 2006
you don’t know me
It happens about once per month. I'll get an email in which someone who knows me only through this page purports to know me. Sometimes the emails are thoughtful, even concerned and psychoanalyzing. I'm too self-flagellating, too hung up on something in the past, etc. And sometimes the emails are less kind.
One day a few weeks ago, I received two such evaluations of myself. The first proclaimed me a thoughtful, sensitive, ideal man; the second derided me as a misogynist and included my favorite line of all time. Consider the whole paragraph [sic]:
Guys like you make me happy with my hairbrush, because you are a repulsive and self centered twat. Hey yes, how does it feel to have some of those sexist drogatorys used, you would be proud if I called you a dick, but no, I am calling you a twat, and you are a bitch too, and even a cunt, even a cunt from hell. And incompetant, so how do you expect us to find you sexy?
Marriage proposal or drogatory, I found the confluence of those emails to be pretty scary. If you know me just through this page, then you don't know me at all.
Despite appearances, the content here is not all that intimate. You don't really see the wrinkled old man behind the curtain. The Stank persona, while me, is but a carefully controlled subset of me. Everything here is cherry-picked to serve that persona without betraying my privacy. You don't see me rip friends until I've given up on the friendship. Likewise, you never know when I'm dating, let alone who. If you need to know who I'm angry with/sleeping with, you already do. Likewise with my demons. By the time they become fodder for this page—the exes, Dad, Mom, etc.—you can rest assured that I consider them long past. They're harmless, slayed demons. You don't get a whiff of the harmful, live ones. Does this make me dishonest? That's subjective. I would say "not always forthcoming."
Either way, the headline stands. Before you tell me who I am, please consider that you likely haven't a notion, yourself.
I will admit to one gleefully deliberate form of dishonesty on this page, something I just can't help: sometimes I crucify Dorkass by cherry-picking facts about her. For instance, when I chided that someone from her IP address was searching for the word "Dorkass," that was true enough. What I didn't say: it was me, visiting her house. The more I cheat, the more agitated she becomes, so the more I cheat. And the circle of strife continues.
posted by john at 06:45 AM • solamente
April 19, 2006
reader mail: yoko
The consensus response to last week's Yoko post is sensible enough, but nonetheless I didn't see it coming: yes, this happens with the genders reversed, and often it's a sign of an abusive relationship. The guy discredits people in her support system one by one, excising from her life anyone who might pose an obstacle to him. This is not at all inconsistent with my Yokos. Although physical abuse isn't a factor, emotional abuse is, and the hunting of the support system is too familiar. People perceived as threats are managed out.
Next question: male or female, do your Yokos have any friends of their own? Mine don't. Socially as with all else, they bring nothing to the table.
posted by john at 07:33 AM • solamente
March 05, 2006
reader mail
Asks Bob: "I don't think you've adequately distinguished your prejudices from those of others. What's the difference between railing against Seattle people and railing against Mexican nannies? As I see it, one is more or less socially acceptable while the other isn't."
A not uncommon question. I, of course, think there's an enormous difference between railing about one's own geographical demographic and hating on an entire ethnicity. But I won't even go there. The easier answer is "context."
See the address bar? That's my address. I own it. You typed it in order to visit my site and read my views. See the logo? It says "Stank." In some circles, that could be thought indicative of the content here. I did not shove my prejudices down your throat in a business meeting, on a bus, in a news article, or in a social context. You came here purposefully to shove my prejudices down your own throat.
To hold myself to my own metric: what makes me think it's okay to say these things to you? You came here. Don't traipse through the rain and complain about gettin' wet.
posted by john at 07:15 PM • solamente
February 09, 2006
reader mail
It started with my thinking my dog Ed's vet was cute. "Cute, and I maybe could get free veterinary care," I thought. "Ha."
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha."
I always find my thoughts much, much funnier than they actually are.
Not knowing what else to post about that wasn't football-related, I started writing about that. I would try to make myself seem cluelessly calculating, and everyone would laugh at me. When in doubt, pratfall, I always say. Somewhere along the way "vet" became "teacher." Not pleased with the result, I published it anyway. And then the mail started to pour in. Ugly mail.
Ladies: it was not my intention to perpetuate some sort of stereotype I did not know existed. Please call off your dogs.
Gentlemen: this is not Penthouse Forum. Please do not send me your bend-the-teacher-over-the-lectern fantasies. They're creepy, implausible and misspelled.
posted by john at 07:18 AM • solamente
December 12, 2005
reader mail
The trolls have spoken. I'm not sure what you're saying, but you've said it a lot this week. Dejected Steeler fans wrote in lieu of therapy. Proud Michigan alums thumped their chests and misspelled super-confusing three-letter words like "its" and "too," but I'm not enough of a hater to point it out. Canadians proudly thumped their chests about, um, not being Americans. Creepy Kristin fans wrote because...well, I'm not sure what they hope to accomplish by writing me, really, but I strongly suspect it ends with "in her pants." The post in which I ripped my dead mother elicited not one negative mail, yet the post in which I said that Ethiopia was predominantly Islamic (based merely on the fact that the most widely practiced religion in Ethiopia is Islam) resulted in an outcry. Weirdos. Many shared my anger with Metamuville's serial pet murderer, one reader suggesting that I post my own cardboard sign: "Pets beware. Stupid owners not on leash."
And then there was the survey about which topics I should write more about. The usual suspects were there: Percy, parents, football, relationships. I think my favorite suggestion, though, was "More Dorkass stories," which curiously enough came from Dorkass's IP address. Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone else who took the time to fill that out.
Contest! Sunday I baked kolachi, a delicious pasty my Polish grandmother used to bake every holiday. (That's a sweet, cinnamony pecan filling wrapped in a sweet dough. It's great with coffee.) I'll ship a loaf to the reader with the best (meaning worst) first-date or breakup story.
posted by john at 12:07 AM • solamente
November 10, 2005
reader male
So in the last week, I've heard from previous subjects Adam Bruckner and the great Leonard Pitts. That's all well and good, but it leaves a pressing question: is Jessica Alba's laptop broken? How about the lesbian cheerleaders'? Or perhaps I should just grab for the brass ring.
Kate Winslet is a dimestore mannequin's understudy with a fake British accent.
posted by john at 12:12 AM • solamente
October 30, 2005
more incompetant reader mail
Is there a sweeter irony than someone misspelling an accusation of stupidity and incompetence? Extra special bonus points for "drogatorys." It's the plural form of the noun "drogatory," don't you know. It's your progative to go to the liberry and look it up.
I knew I was in trouble as soon as I beheld this gifted Port Angeles reader's first sentence: "I am the chick that posted earlier that uses her hairbrush for a dildo. I've been reading more... "
posted by john at 04:44 PM • solamente
August 21, 2005
reader mail
Okay, this is the second time someone asked about the filmstrip at right. No, I am not wearing blackface. Lord. Do you see the yellow stripe?
Those pics are, in order: me outside Parliament in London; me inside Heinz Field in Pittsburgh, with Steeler-helmet face paint (see, it's not offensive—it's just moronic); me next to the evil bunny in Chicago; and Ed the dog.
The evil bunny is included pretty much just to bother Katrina, who on our trip to Chicago found this statue deeply disturbing. She entitled the photo of me and the bunny "Consolidated Evil." A better look at evil bunny:

posted by john at 01:53 AM • solamente
